


Liminal Bridges

by Thanatopsiturvy



Series: Legends Never Die [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, Elder Scrolls Lore, Established Relationship, Expanding In-Game Quests, F/M, Forcing MORE Character Development, Gen, M/M, Magical Theory, Nerevarine!Teldryn, Professor Neloth, Scattered Sexual Content, Self-Indulgent Tropes, Trans Characters, Wild Headcanoneering, heartstones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25902472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatopsiturvy/pseuds/Thanatopsiturvy
Summary: A year has passed since Neloth and Teldryn journeyed to Skyrim in search of the Arms of Chaos. Now, a new threat looms on the horizon -- mercurial and shrouded by ghosts of the past -- forcing Neloth, Teldryn, and  Talvas to abandon the life they knew.While trying to keep their wits about them and their feet beneath them, they are reminded of this fundamental truth: that the only constant in life ischange.Sequel to"Breathing Water"
Relationships: Brelyna Maryon/Talvas Fathryon, Neloth/Teldryn Sero
Series: Legends Never Die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879723
Comments: 116
Kudos: 158





	1. The Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back my beautiful Rare Pair Hell Compatriots. 
> 
> I knew after I finished "Breathing Water" I wanted to write more -- it was a primal DESIRE to write more. I loved it so much and I didn't want to stop the Snark Train that is Teldryn and Neloth bickering at each other. 
> 
> If this story feels a little self-indulgent, it's because it is. I play around with a lot of concepts and scenes that I, honestly, just really wanted to see acted out. So I invite you along on this journey with me to revisit characters we know, meet some new ones, and dig deeper into magical lore in the Elder Scrolls universe. 
> 
> I'm trying something a little different with this story that makes me a tad nervous: I haven't completely finished writing it. But I know exactly where I want it to go and how I want it to end. So comments and engagement is gonna be super useful for my motivation! If you don't have an AO3 or maybe you don't like leaving comments, feel free to just message me on instagram (@thana.topsy) and yell in my DMs! I love hearing from people who read my stories. <3 (You're welcome to message me on tumblr, too, but I don't really check it very often). 
> 
> OKAY, enough of me rambling. Let's dive in!
> 
> Thanks so much to [FourCatProductions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions) for being an amazing beta!!

Neloth hadn’t quite gotten used to the new way of things. 

It wasn’t as if Teldryn had been around all the time. He was still a mercenary— still off gallivanting across Solstheim or Skyrim, or even Vvardenfel on one occasion. That occasion had made Neloth more nervous than he’d ever admit. 

Teldryn was his own mer. There was no tying him down. And in the back of his mind, Neloth was always prepared for the day when he might not return. Not in the sense that he had been hurt or was dead, but more so in the sense that Teldryn had finally realized what a strange predicament he’d gotten himself into: bound to Neloth.

But he’d always returned. 

And even after the course of a year, Neloth was still pleasantly surprised whenever Teldryn’s figure would appear on the platform of Tel Mithryn, tugging his helmet off and grinning in that enigmatic way he was wont to do, pulling Neloth down for a kiss… Neloth wondered if he would ever cease being baffled by it all— by the way Teldryn seemed to want him. He wondered if he’d ever truly believe him when Teldryn would softly murmur ‘I missed you’ against his lips. He wondered if he’d ever stop feeling small and vulnerable and naked long after they’d re-donned their clothes and Teldryn hummed with contentment, blowing lightly across the tea that Neloth had just handed him, looking over top the rim with those dark, knowing eyes that were both young and ancient all at once. Oh, how he wondered… 

Unsurprisingly, Neloth was a creature of habit. He had allowed himself to become comfortable. This new routine brought him dependability and stability in a way that few things in his life ever had. Teldryn had become a new home. And for once, in well over two hundred years, Neloth slowly began to understand contentment. 

But life always found a way to violently uproot him.  
  


* * *

Tendrils of smoke curled towards the sky on the horizon as Neloth and Teldryn passed Fort Frostmoth. 

“Is that…?” Teldryn began, his voice tight with alarm, but Neloth was already pulling magicka into his palms. His ears popped as his teleportation spell spat him out in front of Tel Mithryn. The air was thick with smoke, the cloying smell of sulfur and scorched fungus pushing into his nose.

“Master Neloth!” Talvas yelled to his left, lobbing an ice spike at an ash spawn’s turned back. “They started attacking the tower! There are too many of them!”

There were nearly twenty ash spawn that Neloth could see, all ignoring Talvas and himself to direct their attacks at the compound. His steward’s quarters were charred beyond recognition, the apothecary a lost cause as well. He had to focus on the main tower. 

The sigil stones in his hands burned hot as he reached out with telekinesis, ripping four of the ash spawn in his way backwards. One of them was crushed to dust with the force of his spell. The other three shambled back to their feet and immediately returned to scorching the tower.    
  


“Oh no you don’t!” Neloth teleported into their path, summoning a blizzard between his palms. A tornado of snow and ice swept the three remaining ash spawn off their feet and carried them even further away. He scanned the scene before him, his mind buzzing with probabilities and solutions. They’d already done a significant amount of damage, more than Neloth would have thought possible.  _ Where had they all come from? Why were they so… organized? _ He jolted as one of the smaller mushroom trees nearby let out a squealing hiss, foam bubbling from its gills as the fire wound its way up the charred stem. He had to think, and quickly. 

“Focus on bringing down the ones attacking the main tower!” Neloth barked in Talvas’ direction. He sprinted towards the tower and up the smoldering ramp to the main door, sending two ash spawn careening over the railing with a bolt of electricity.

“What are you doing!?” Talvas yelped in the distance, but Neloth ignored him, throwing open the door and levitating himself to the top floor.

Thick smoke obscured the room. Neloth coughed into the crook of his arm and produced a small gust of wind to clear his path. There were few material possessions in his life that he valued, but some things were irreplaceable. He grabbed an empty satchel and hastily shoved as many of his recent journals as he could fit inside, occasionally stopping to clear the smoke. He staggered as the tower lurched, the foundation beginning to fail. 

With renewed desperation, Neloth scrambled for the Black Book he kept in his enchanting room. He very briefly debated on which staves were worth saving, and opted for three of his more powerful ones, barely sparing the Arms of Chaos a second glance. Heart stones he could pry from the ground… Soul gems, not so much. He scraped several off a shelf and into the bag, which was growing increasingly heavier. He coughed again, and cleared his path, smoke stinging his eyes and burning his throat.  _ What else? What else!? _ The tower lurched again, and with a frustrated cry, Neloth teleported himself out, staggering back onto the sands of the courtyard. 

He dropped the satchel and immediately sent an ice spike into the chest of a nearby ash spawn, coughing all the while. Someone called his name. Teldryn had arrived.

“Destroy them!” he barked, his throat raw. 

“Where did they come from?” Teldryn yelled from across the yard, skewering one of the creatures with his sword. He barely leapt out of the way as it whirled on him with a blast of fire. With a pivot and a swing, he lobbed off its head. 

“Does it matter?!” Neloth retorted. Another ash spawn crumpled to dust at his feet. “Just—” There was a massive crack, followed by an almost mournful groan. An immense wave of heat rippled through the air. Neloth’s eyes widened as his magicka faltered. Suddenly, he felt as if he were levitating outside his body, looking down on the events unfolding before him in numb disbelief. 

The tower—  _ his tower; _ his precious relic from Vvardenfel, one that he’d spent two centuries cultivating— shuddered, tilted and began to fall towards the water. 

He heard a panicked cry from somewhere behind him, but Neloth’s mind had gone blank as he watched the remnants of his work crash onto the shore of the Inner Sea. Even as the final ash spawn fell to Teldryn’s sword and Talvas’ atronachs, Neloth could not tear his eyes away from the smoldering ruins, rendered completely speechless. Frozen. He felt like a startled bystander, witness to a catastrophe that couldn’t possibly be happening to him.

“Master Neloth.” It was Talvas who jarred him out of his trance, and Neloth’s attention snapped to him with unfocused fury. Talvas recoiled, soot smeared across his left cheek. “What do we do?” 

“Resist asking inane questions, for a start,” he snapped.

“Neloth,” came Teldryn’s voice from behind him— his tone held a warning. 

“Where’s Elynea?” Neloth continued. “Varona?” 

“Here.” Elynea strode forward, holding several bulging satchels of… something. “When the attacks started I just… grabbed as many of my specimens as I could.” 

Neloth couldn’t help the snarl that curled his lip. “So very glad _that_ was your first concern and not  _ stopping the blasted ash spawn. _ ” 

“I’m an alchemist!” Elynea argued shrilly. “I study! I preserve!”  
  
“And now what is there to preserve?!” Neloth roared. “Where’s Varona? VARONA!?” 

“Neloth…” Teldryn was at his side wrapping a hand around his elbow. “Have Talvas escort Elynea to Raven Rock. I’ll help look for Varona.” 

Neloth stood unmoving for a long moment, staring at his warped reflection in Teldryn’s goggles. He coughed again, turning away. “Fine. You heard him,” he barked in Talvas’ direction. “Go.” He turned back to the smoldering remains of his tower. 

_ Go. _

_ Go where? _

—

Varona was dead. 

Teldryn seemed bent out of shape over this fact. Neloth didn’t really care. There were more pressing matters at hand. Namely, figuring out what, or  _ who, _ caused the ash spawn to attack Tel Mithryn. 

“They have become more aggressive as of late,” Talvas pointed out as he clutched a large glass of greef between his palms. His knuckles bulged white from the tension of his grip, belying any calmness his voice conveyed. The three of them sat huddled around an off-balanced table in a dim corner of the Retching Netch.

“Towards people, maybe,” Teldryn countered glumly. He’d already put away half a bottle of sujamma by himself, sulking and dragging himself about like a half-crushed scrib. It was mildly infuriating. It wasn’t  _ Teldryn’s _ tower that had been destroyed. It wasn’t  _ Teldryn’s _ life’s work that had been completely lost. Neloth elected to ignore his dramatics.   
“What’s done is done.” Neloth took a sip of his tea. “There’s nothing left to do but move forward.” 

Talvas gawked at him from across the table. “You’re not… sad?” 

“A useless emotion to dwell on. My time would be far better spent planning rather than moping. I’d recommend you both attempt the same.”  
  
“Your steward is  _ dead _ , Neloth,” Teldryn insisted with a scowl.   
  
“And?” 

In a sudden flurry, Teldryn shoved to his feet, causing his chair to tip back and clatter loudly to the floor. He grabbed the bottle of sujamma and stalked towards the stairs, trotting up them until he was out of sight. Neloth watched him go with a scowl, then turned back to the table and drank the rest of his tea faster than he would have preferred. Talvas was still staring. He dropped his gaze to his drink when Neloth looked at him.

“Anything else you’d like to ask?” 

“No, Master Neloth.” 

Without another word, Neloth rose from the table and retreated to his room. If all Teldryn and Talvas wanted to do was sulk and gawk, then Neloth was going to attempt to rest. 

He half expected Teldryn to trudge into their room at some point with his head down, shuck his boots by the door, and crawl across the bed to plant a kiss against Neloth’s shoulder— the way he often did after he’d been unreasonable. Teldryn held a grudge for far less time than Neloth, by usual standards. 

But tonight the bed remained cold and empty. Neloth forced himself to stop looking over at the door after two hours had passed. He finished cataloguing his journals, stacked them neatly on the bed side table, and extinguished the lights in the room with an irritated huff. He turned to face away from the door, pulling the blanket up around his ears and forcing his eyes closed. Teldryn could sleep in an ash pile for all he cared.

At some point in the night, the door creaked open, and Neloth sniffed awake. He turned onto his back, blinking blearily into the shaft of light that spilled across the dingy room. A darkened silhouette stood in the doorway. 

“Are you finished sulking?” Neloth asked, his voice rough from sleep and sore from the smoke. Teldryn remained silent, unmoving. 

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re playing at but—” Neloth cut himself off, inhaling sharply. He sat bolt-upright and managed to throw up a shield right as the figure sprinted towards the bed, the flash of their dagger catching the light. They collided with the ward, letting out a grunt and stumbling backwards. Neloth swept back the covers and rolled off the bed onto his feet. He held the ward as his sleep-addled brain tried to determine the best way to kill the intruder. 

Just as his free hand began to glow hot with a paralysis spell, the center of the figure’s chest exploded, blood splattering against the shimmering ward as they let out a strangled, gurgling cry. The sharp end of a sword protruded from beneath their sternum. 

Neloth dropped the ward just as the sword was retracted. The figure slumped forward to reveal Teldryn, haloed by the light of the doorway and breathing heavily. He let his sword clatter to the ground, stepping over the body and towards Neloth. 

“Dagon’s eyeballs, Teldryn! What in bloody Oblivion—?” Neloth let out a soft  _ oof _ as Teldryn pulled him against his chest, fingers scrabbling along Neloth’s back. One hand reached up and yanked Neloth’s head down and against his shoulder. 

Neloth tried to struggle, to pull away. “Now’s not exactly the time…” He faded off as he felt the first tremor roll through Teldryn’s body, heard the sharp, wet intake of breath. Teldryn pulled him closer with the suffocating grip of a man panicked. Tentatively, Neloth rested his hands on Teldryn’s lower back, relaxing ever so slightly. 

“It’s all right,” he found himself saying as one hand slid up to rest between Teldryn’s shoulder blades. He took a deep breath through his nose, pressing his lips to Teldryn’s neck. “I’m all right.” 

—

An assassin. 

A thrice-damned  _ assassin _ . 

First, his tower was destroyed, then, he was subjected to an incredibly ineffective murder attempt. It was too close together— too planned to be a coincidence.

Someone wanted Neloth dead. 

With the help of a distraught, sleep-rumpled Talvas, the three of them managed to dispose of the assassin’s body and clean up the blood left by Teldryn’s dramatics. Teldryn seemed to have pulled himself together relatively quickly. He was as silent and stoic as ever as the two of them prepared for bed, then quickly pressed into Neloth’s space once they were both beneath the covers. 

“Must you cling?” Neloth sighed.   
  
“Someone just tried to murder you, you s’wit,” Teldryn grumbled against his neck, wrapping an arm around Neloth’s waist and pulling him towards the center of the bed. “Let me fucking cling.” 

Neloth couldn’t help but chuckle. The air in the room lightened, tension easing between the two of them like the loosening of a valve. He shifted his arm beneath Teldryn’s shoulders, pulling him against his chest. 

“It’s been a dreadful day.”

Teldryn let out a hoarse, wheeze of a laugh. “No shit.” His laugh turned into a weary sigh, followed by a heavy silence. Neloth stared at the ceiling of the dingy little room, replaying the earlier events through his head. He let his hands trail absently along Teldryn’s back, fingertips tracing the firm muscles that lined his spine. 

He felt… hollow. More than usual. He knew he should be feeling some form of emotion— sadness, grief, anger, fear— but all of those words simply seemed like concepts, theoretical experiences that other people underwent. But not him. 

“It’s okay to mourn,” Teldryn said after another long stretch of silence. His beard tickled against Neloth’s collarbone as he spoke.

Neloth scoffed. “I’ve never mourned a day in my—” The words died in his throat as a cold chill ran through his body. In his mind, he was suddenly transported back on the shores of northern Skyrim, the snow falling softly around him as Teldryn’s body slowly grew colder in his arms. 

Should he feel the same way about Tel Mithryn? 

Teldryn didn’t prompt him to finish his sentence, didn’t fuss when Neloth pulled him closer. He sighed against Neloth’s chest and tangled their legs together as they slipped into silence once again.

“We’ll get through this,” he said at last. He sat up to plant a final kiss to Neloth’s lips before pulling away to lie on his back in preparation for sleep. 

Neloth lay awake long after Teldryn’s breathing became deep and steady, wondering how useful it was to believe a lie in a situation like this.


	2. The Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FourCatProductions for being my Ride or Die King and the best beta a guy could ask for.

Teldryn knew one thing for sure: they couldn’t live at the Retching Netch any longer. 

Geldis was already giving him looks that landed somewhere between pleading and furious. It wasn’t as if Neloth was treating the mer any differently than he treated anyone else, it was just that Geldis seemed to have a lower tolerance for it. Talvas had been attempting to make up for things by being extra polite and accommodating, which could only work for so long. On top of it all, Teldryn wasn’t too keen on telling Geldis that there had  _ also _ been a thwarted murder attempt in his establishment. The last thing they needed was to be thrown out on their arses and to lose what little bit of security they had left. 

And that brought up the other matter that had been weighing heavily in the back of Teldryn’s mind: the assassin.

The armor had been simple, light, with no distinctive markings. Teldryn had checked every pocket for a writ, yanked the would-be-assassin’s helmet off to reveal a face he didn’t recognize. Who were they? Who sent them? As discreetly as he could manage, Teldryn had written a concise letter to the only person he knew to call upon in a situation like this. It was only a matter of days before he had gotten a response— cryptic and short. Just as he’d expected. 

This was how Teldryn found himself hiking up an ashen hill on the southern slopes of Solstheim, skewering the occasional ash hopper and giving the reaver camps a wide berth. The cabin was set into the hillside right before the landscape faded into snow, hidden by a copse of trees. Teldryn almost missed it. 

He stopped for a moment at the bottom of the front steps, digging his fists into his lower back and catching his breath. He felt oddly out of shape for what should have been a relatively simple trek, and he wondered briefly if his age might at last be catching up to him. With a final push of determination, he stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the worn wooden door. There were no sounds of movement inside. A gust of wind made the surrounding trees clack together, their branches whistling and whispering like mouthless voices. Teldryn counted to ten before he raised his hand to knock again, only to have the door swing open, making him jump.

He swallowed, feeling suddenly unprepared for this meeting. He reached up to unstrap his helmet and pull it off, running a hand through his hair. Usually he’d smile, maybe offer a joke. Today, he was devoid of humor, and managed only to press his lips in a grim line. 

“Good to see you, Rels.” 

The cabin was a one-room affair, warm and sparsely decorated. A bed was pushed up against the far wall, as well as a dresser and a small end table. There was a dining area and a well-stocked weapons rack. The only thing that set this house apart from anyone else’s was a shrine to Mephala, carefully arranged and meticulously tended to. Teldryn’s eyes lingered on the gently undulating banner on the wall behind it, illuminated by the two black candles that framed a statue of the spider goddess. 

Rels shuffled him over to a table and sat him down, immediately beginning to heat a pot of water over the hearth. 

“Your letter said very little,” he said at last, his voice low and ragged from years of breathing ash. 

“Sorry. I couldn’t say much. There was an attack on my…” Panic shot through Teldryn’s body for the briefest moment as he debated the proper word to describe his and Neloth’s relationship. “Partner,” he decided, though it felt strange to say. 

Rels let out a low hum, sitting in the chair opposite him. “And you wanted to know if it was a writ.” 

“I found no writ on the body.” Teldryn averted his eyes, focusing on the warped wood grain of the table. “I’m afraid it was the Brotherhood. That the attacks may not stop.”

Rels sat up a bit straighter, though his expression remained placid. “The Brotherhood has no presence on Solstheim. I made sure of that.” 

“Then it was a mercenary? Freelance?” Teldryn let out a frustrated grunt. “It doesn’t make any sense. First Tel Mithryn was destroyed— I’m sure you could see the smoke from here. Neloth survived, of course. But then for an assassin to strike so quickly, and on the same day…”

“Neloth,” Rels repeated, his expression pinching ever so slightly. “The Telvanni.” 

Teldryn looked up and nodded, heat flooding his ears. 

“The Telvanni wizard… is your partner.” 

Teldryn shrugged with a weak laugh. “It’s a long story?”

Rels blinked at him, then took a deep inhale. “I’m sure it is.” He got to his feet and checked on the water, removing the pot and gently pouring the boiling water into a solid black teapot. His movements were slow, but intentional. Methodical. “Well, I can say with certainty that it was not a writ from the Morag Tong.” He replaced the lid and poured the remaining water over the outside of the teapot— something so very traditional that it made Teldryn’s chest ache with longing. “A Telvanni master is not a casual writ. Anyone sent after someone of his… stature would not have been so easy to kill.”

“That’s only vaguely a relief,” Teldryn grumbled. 

“However, while I’m confident there’s very little chance the Dark Brotherhood was involved, your concern is still valid.” Rels set the teapot on the table. “More attempts will most likely be made.” 

“Yes…” Teldryn’s vision had gone unfocused. He stared blankly across the room and watched the banner behind the shrine to Mephala continue to sway, undulating as if it were under water. “I’m not sure what to do, honestly. We have nowhere to stay. We can’t stay in the Netch forever. And I say that as someone who had a permanent room there for years.” 

“I cannot tell you what you should do,” Rels stated, carefully pouring tea into the slightly-warped teabowl that he’d set in front of Teldryn. 

“I know. I’m not asking. Just… thinking out loud, I suppose.” 

At last, the corner of Rels’ mouth twitched into a smirk. “Always been a bad habit of yours.”

“Come now…” Teldryn relaxed his shoulders ever so slightly, leaned against the table and propped his chin on his hand. “That’s not fair. You know too much about me. Very dangerous.” He lifted his tea to his lips to take a sip. It was too hot.

Rels poured his own cup. “Plan on having me executed, then?” 

“Well, you’re the only person I know that I could really contract for that sort of thing, and I think it would be a pretty significant conflict of interest.” 

Rels managed to chuckle, though it was more of a low, rumbling rasp in the back of his throat. “You never change, do you?”    
“I absolutely change,” Teldryn argued. “I’m an honest man now.” 

“With a Telvanni wizard,” Rels pointed out. He blew across the surface of his tea, raising one slender eyebrow as he gave Teldryn an appraising look. “I’m not sure if I’m surprised or not.” 

“It’s been a year and a half and I’m still surprised. Though a year feels like a blink these days…” 

“You have a knack for wedging yourself into strange circumstances.” 

“Again.” Teldryn clucked his tongue. “You know too much. Dangerous.” 

There was a strange sort of relief that came with talking to Rels— a catharsis that he barely knew he needed. There were so few people still alive from Teldryn’s past. Despite the gloomy reason he’d called upon him in the first place, Teldryn still found himself enjoying the old mer’s company. His devotion to the Morag Tong was steadfast, unshaken, but there was a calculating edge to his gaze— something that only came with time and weathering innumerable trials and mistakes. Teldryn was reminded of the first time he ever stood in front of Eno Hlaalu, asking with a voice like a bleating lamb if he could join the guild of assassins. It felt like an age ago; it felt like yesterday. 

Soon, two hours had passed, three pots of tea had been consumed, and Teldryn was being shown to the door feeling better in some ways, worse in others. 

“I think we’ll have to leave,” he said, turning in the doorway to face Rels. “Solstheim, I mean.” 

Rels nodded solemnly. “I assumed that might be the case.” He opened his mouth and took a breath, closed it, gave Teldryn a thoughtful look. “I’ll keep an ear to the ground, let you know if I hear of any Brotherhood activity.” Another short pause. “Do you know where you’ll go?” 

“I have to convince Neloth to leave, first. Which might be difficult. Skyrim, probably. It’s bound to slow any assassin down, especially if they’re coming from Morrowind.”

“I wish you the best, then.” Rels gave a small bow. 

“Oh, honestly.” Teldryn stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, thumping him twice on the back. He felt thin, but lean, his muscles hardened with age and time. When Teldryn pulled back, Rels looked slightly bewildered, and  _ finally _ Teldryn recognized the mer from those many years ago. “It was great to see you, Rels.” 

Rels nodded, his expression tight. “Mephala cloak you.” 

—

“Leave?” Neloth let out a scoff. “And then what, become nomads? Join the Khajiiti caravans?” 

“Someone wants you dead,” Teldryn argued.   
  
“There are legions of people who want me dead.” Neloth waved him off, turning back to his journal to scribble something down. “This is nothing new.” 

“They destroyed your tower. Nearly killed you while you slept.”    
  
“Which is one of the reasons I trained myself to not need sleep. A practice which  _ you _ broke me of, might I add.”

“Neloth…” Teldryn sighed, sitting down beside him at the small table in their room. He ran a hand across the top of Neloth’s shoulders, squeezed the back of his neck. “I know you’re damn hard to kill, but I don’t want to live each day waiting for the next strike.” He paused, debated, then added, “Without Tel Mithryn we’re vulnerable.” 

“I hate that word.”

Teldryn massaged the back of Neloth’s neck, digging into the stiff, knotted muscle. “I know you do.”

Neloth put his quill down with a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes slid closed and he leaned back against Teldryn’s hand. “What do you suggest, then?” 

“Skyrim,” Teldryn said with a shrug. “It’s vast, difficult to traverse…”   
  
“I was afraid you’d say that.” 

“I know it better than most. I had that one Nord patron recently that dragged me to Markarth and back…”

“Are you giving me your pitch?” Neloth asked, opening his eyes and throwing Teldryn a smirk. 

“Are you convinced?” 

“Sadly, I don’t think I can afford you at the moment.” 

Teldryn laughed through his nose, pulling Neloth towards him and planting a kiss on his lips. He felt Neloth’s neck relax beneath his fingers, felt him let out a breath. It still made Teldryn’s chest ache whenever he got Neloth to bend, to relinquish just the slightest bit. It never stopped feeling like a small victory. 

Neloth pulled back just enough to speak. “Are you trying to distract me?” 

“Is it working?” Teldryn retorted, pressing another quick kiss to his lips.    
  
“... Yes.” 

Teldryn slid from his seat to kneel between Neloth’s legs, reaching up with his other hand to pull his face down further, deepening their kiss. Neloth inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands fluttering around Teldryn’s shoulders as if unsure of where to land. 

“Are you always thinking about sex?” he asked breathlessly as Teldryn broke away to tug at his scarf, kissing down the column of Neloth’s neck.

“Not always,” Teldryn spoke against his skin. “Sometimes I think about food…” He planted a kiss against Neloth’s pulse point. “And sleep.” 

“Evolved creature that you are— _ ah _ !” Neloth jumped as Teldryn reached beneath his robes to palm him through his pants. “Is now really the best time?!” 

“Sometimes,” Teldryn began, sitting back on his heels to work at the buckle of Neloth’s waist belt, “You can still do these things even when it isn’t the best time.” 

Time blurred as Teldryn’s focus narrowed. He went from on his knees between Neloth’s legs, to his hands and knees on the bed, to the flat of his stomach as he bit his own forearm and Neloth huffed hot in his ear. He came against the mattress with a whimper and a watery curse, rutting desperately against the stiff sheets to the point of pain as Neloth shuddered through his own climax. It was a spur-of-the-moment experience that Teldryn was rarely able to coax out of Neloth, and he couldn’t help but feel a little proud and satisfied. As they lay bonelessly against each other afterwards, sticky and too-warm, Teldryn was struck with an idea.

“We could go back to Winterhold.”

Neloth had been absently running his hand along Teldryn’s back and abruptly paused. He let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure which I hate more about that suggestion: that I had already considered it, or that it’s the most logical conclusion.” 

“The college is practically a fortress,” Teldryn continued. “And we could try to figure out where the attacks were coming from.” He paused. “And Savos might pay you to teach again.” 

“Please,” Neloth scoffed. “I’m not destitute. I was able to salvage enough from the ruins.”

Teldryn couldn’t help but laugh, despite the grim implications. A spark of hope flickered to life in his chest. It felt like they had a plan— like they had  _ something _ — that they were no longer doomed to sit in limbo and wait for the next event to simply happen.

“Something tells me Elynea won’t be joining us,” Teldryn murmured.    
  
“Oh.” Neloth waved a hand. “I assumed she was fired.” 

“Fired!?” 

“Perhaps furloughed. Is that a nicer way to put it?” 

“Neloth…”   
  
“What? I have no tower! That was the main aspect of her job.” 

Teldryn sighed, propping himself up onto his elbow to look down at Neloth. He stared back up at Teldryn with a pinched, indignant expression. 

“You’re not going to become angry with me again, are you? I’m simply stating facts.”

“I’m not angry, you s’wit,” Teldryn assured with a smirk. He ran a hand across the top of Neloth’s head, sliding his finger over his ear and down his neck, eliciting a shiver. “Maybe she could work on cultivating clippings from the tower?”  
  
Neloth made a thoughtful noise, gazing over Teldryn’s shoulder. “She could try, I suppose. However, it takes very specific magical techniques to grow a tower. Telvanni secrets.” 

“Well, perhaps she can get a head start for your grand return, then.” 

“My grand…” Neloth blinked, refocusing his gaze on Teldryn’s face. “Was that sarcasm?” 

Teldryn just grinned and kissed him quickly. “Back to Winterhold for us then.”    
  
“Joy of all joys,” Neloth said flatly, and Teldryn couldn’t help but laugh against his neck.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rels belongs to [banjotea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjotea/gifts) and, as always, I love throwing him into my stories. If you're unaware/want to read about Rels and Teldryn's past in Morrowind, check out ["A Lesson In Honor"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268192). Yeah, they were a thing for a bit. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left comments and reached out thus far! I've been suffering from a bit of writer's block, but I think it's starting to pass. Once I'm able to crank out more chapters and have a clear end in sight, I'll start posting chapter updates once a week instead of every two weeks. <3


	3. Winterhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, FourCatProductions, for always being a wonderful and timely beta! 
> 
> Today we get Talvas' perspective! 
> 
> Enjoy!

CHAPTER THREE

Talvas had never been to Skyrim. As they made their final ascent towards the college of Winterhold, he was quite certain he would have been perfectly fine living the rest of his life without  _ ever _ seeing Skyrim.

He was born in Raven Rock, the child of two Red Year survivors and staunch House Redoran members. His parents had readily disowned him when he decided to become Neloth’s apprentice and defect to House Telvanni. Sometimes he felt lucky that  _ all _ they’d done was disown him. Before that, he had briefly considered applying to join the College of Winterhold. Magic had always been his lifeblood— his hunger for knowledge insatiable, his desire for power undeniable. A Redoran life of warrior-like stoicism and honorable devotion was a waking nightmare. So regardless of his chosen path, Talvas knew deep in his heart that he’d always been destined to be a disappointment to his family. 

He pulled his cloak high around his ears, shivering uncontrollably as they passed through the main gates. Suddenly, suffering through Neloth’s insanity seemed like a luxury compared to attending school in a place like  _ this. _ Students warily eyed the three of them as he, Neloth, and Teldryn passed through the courtyard. They whispered to each other behind their hands and ducked into doorways. 

“I think they remember you,” Teldryn said quietly as he bumped against Neloth’s shoulder. Neloth harrumphed in response.

The inner hall was cold and deserted. Neloth strode in confidently, turning in a circle when no staff member magically appeared. 

“Hello?” he called out, already sounding peeved. 

From the center room, a tall, slender Altmer woman emerged, sweeping gracefully in their direction. “I’m afraid you’ve just missed—” She cut herself off. “Oh. It’s  _ you _ again.” 

“Indeed,” Neloth agreed. “But I’m afraid I haven’t the time to catch up. I must speak to Savos. Let him know we’re here.” 

The woman’s expression tightened as she pursed her lips. “Savos Aren is dead.” 

Talvas heard Teldryn suck in a breath.    
  
“Dead!?” Neloth exclaimed. “Well that’s inconvenient. How did he die?” 

“Perhaps I’m not the best candidate to relay the story.” The woman’s words were both somehow polite and detached, while also dripping with disdain. Talvas was thankful she hadn’t seemed to notice him. “Our new Arch-Mage is off the grounds at the moment, but I’d be happy to direct you to our Master Wizard.”  
  
“By all means,” Neloth prompted with a flick of his wrist. 

They ended up in another hall, much smaller than the one where classes were held. Talvas was informed on the way that this was where the faculty had their personal rooms. Apparently Teldryn and Neloth had stayed there the last time they’d been at Winterhold. It was still cold and Talvas was beginning to wonder if he’d ever feel his toes again.

“Mirabelle.” The Altmer leaned into the open doorway of one of the rooms. “The Telvanni wizard is back.” 

Talvas heard Neloth chuckle under his breath. Teldryn had remained quiet the entire time, face hidden behind his usual chitin mask, preventing Talvas from getting any possible emotional read on him.The merc was nice enough, but a relative mystery, rarely speaking to Talvas outside of pleasantries. Talvas vaguely knew the extent of his and Neloth’s relationship, but made a concerted effort not to think about it too much. A single occasion of accidentally stumbling upon them when they’d thought themselves alone had been enough for Talvas to learn all he could have _ever possibly_ _wanted to know_ about the intimacies of Master Neloth’s life. 

Talvas jerked back to the current moment when a short human woman appeared in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. She gave Neloth a piercing glare. 

“To what do we owe the honor, Master Neloth?” Her tone was icy, immediately setting Talvas on edge. 

“Nothing honorable to offer, I’m afraid,” Neloth retorted, sounding bored. “It is rather unfortunate that Savos isn’t here anymore. I believe he might have been better equipped to understand our plight.”    
  
“And what is your plight, exactly?” Mirabelle pressed, cocking her head to the side. She was older for a human, her hair graying at the temples. Talvas found himself staring, and quickly jerked his gaze away. He’d always found humans to be oddly beautiful, in a… snubbed, rounded sort of way. He wasn’t quite used to being around them for any extended period of time. 

“Would it be possible to speak somewhere mildly less…” Neloth gestured to their surroundings. “Exhibistionist?” 

Mirabelle’s eyebrows shot upwards and her stony expression nearly broke, her mouth warping against the smile that threatened to crack. “Of course.” She motioned for them to follow her. “My quarters are crowded, but please…”

Her quarters were quite crowded, and Talvas found himself pressed up against the closed door, attempting not to bump into anything. Shelves upon shelves of books, scrolls, and ingredients lined the room. A make-shift alchemical station was pushed into the corner, the alembic bubbling and filling the room with a burnt, earthy aroma. Mirabelle shuffled around the bed and sat down in a chair next to the alchemical station, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands delicately in her lap. Neloth seated himself in a chair on the opposite side of the small room, affecting a similar posture. Teldryn elected to remain standing, his shoulder nearly bumping up against Talvas’ as they both stood with their backs to the door. 

“Does this meet your requirements for privacy?” Mirabelle asked with a slight twitch to her lips. 

“I will speak plainly,” Neloth began, his brows drawing tight and his expression growing dark. “I have been the target of a series of attacks, one of which destroyed my home, erasing in a day over two centuries worth of growth and research, killing my steward, and leaving myself and my constituents effectively homeless.” 

Mirabelle’s face softened only momentarily before her expression shifted to open concern. “And you thought the best decision was to come to a school? Where there are students who have barely learned to live away from their parents?” 

“I didn’t come for the students,” Neloth sneered. “I came because I assumed we had allies here. The College is a stronghold with only one feasible way in.”

“No disrespect, Master Neloth, but while Savos Aren might have been your ally, the College of Winterhold is not.” 

Talvas felt his chest constrict as an immense feeling of hopelessness washed over him all at once. He looked down at his shoes and let out a shaky breath. So, they’d made the journey for nothing? He felt a firm hand on his shoulder and jerked upright to lock eyes with the beady goggles of Teldryn’s helmet. The merc simply nodded once before dropping his hand and looking back to Mirabelle. When Talvas looked up, he was startled to find her looking at him. She let out a sigh, getting to her feet. 

“It is not my decision whether or not you’ll be able to stay here. That will be up to the Arch-Mage. But we won’t turn you away in the meantime. Come.” She motioned for Talvas and Teldryn to step aside as she opened the door. “I’m sure we at least have three spare rooms.” 

“Two is all we need,” Neloth amended, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his clothing. 

Mirabelle paused, giving him a slightly confused look.

“Teldryn and I are quite used to sharing,” he added. 

Her eyebrows shot up for a second time and she looked at Talvas expectantly. His entire body flushed hot with embarrassment.    
  
“Oh, no, I’m not…” He gestured to Teldryn. “He’s Teldryn. I’m… I’m just Master Neloth’s apprentice.” 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay here in the Hall of Countenance. There’s a spare room up the stairs and two over from the right. Make yourself—” She seemed to catch herself, and Talvas could only assume she was about to say ‘at home’. “Comfortable,” she finished. She turned back to Neloth. “I’m afraid the only room with a large enough bed would be Ancano’s old room.”    
  
“Ancano?” Teldryn finally spoke. “Is he…?” 

“Dead,” Mirabelle stated, expressionless.

“Was there something catching going around in the past year?” Neloth asked with a bemused sort of tone. 

“I’ll try to explain on the way.” 

Talvas watched them exit the hall with a lost, helpless sort of feeling. He trudged up the stairs and found the spare room, which was well and truly empty aside from a bed, a wardrobe, a bedside table, and a smattering of candles. He set his too-light pack down into a dusty chair, figuring he had so few possessions now that unpacking would be meaningless anyways, even if they were allowed to stay. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his feet, feeling lost and aimless. He didn’t even know where Neloth and Teldryn were being taken. What if he needed to find them? His stomach growled and he dropped his face into his hands, curling in on himself.    
  
“So you’re a Telvanni apprentice?” a voice from the doorway asked. Talvas jerked upright, head swiveling in that direction. It was the Altmer from earlier, leaning against the door frame and watching him curiously. 

“Uh, yeah, I am.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Talvas Fathryon.” 

“Faralda,” she offered, giving a slight bow from where she still leaned in the doorway. “What’s it like?” 

Talvas blinked, feeling suddenly nervous. “I’m… not sure I understand.” 

“Being a Telvanni apprentice,” she clarified. “What’s it like?” 

“Oh.” Talvas shifted on the bed to turn more fully towards her, pulling one leg beneath him. “Dangerous, if I’m honest.” He let himself laugh a little. “I’ve heard horror stories about what apprentices used to go through back in Morrowind, before the Red Year. So I count myself kind of lucky.”    
  
“Your Master is insufferable, though.” 

Talvas laughed again, a little more genuinely. “Believe it or not, he’s actually better than he used to be.”

“Hmm. I sat in on his lectures when he was here last. I’m a Destruction scholar and a professor here. I couldn’t help but feel that he was stepping on my toes, but...” She shrugged with a sigh, arching one lone brow. “He’s definitely more advanced than I am. It was humbling, I suppose.” She looked back to Talvas. “If you’d like me to leave you alone, you can say so.” 

“No! No, that’s fine. I’m…” Talvas bit at the insides of his cheeks, preventing himself from being too open with his words. “I’m happy to have company.” 

“Well, some of the other professors will be heading to the main hall for supper soon. Would you like to join?”    
  
Talvas got to his feet, his stomach twisting painfully at the mention of food. “I would appreciate that very much.”    
  
“Come on, then.” She jerked her chin over her shoulder and pushed off the door frame. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Talvas hadn’t realized that dinner meant ‘Nord Food’. He looked despondently down at the brownish, lumpy liquid that supposedly passed as stew in this part of the world. 

“Horker,” Faralda had clarified when she sat it down in front of him. “It’s very filling. You’ll get used to it.” 

Talvas wasn’t sure if he  _ wanted _ to get used to it, but ate it all anyways, his hunger overruling his palate. Faralda introduced him to several people whose names he was sure he’d forget immediately. The only exception was the other Dunmer at the table, Drevis Neloren. Talvas had taken a seat beside him almost instinctively, Faralda sitting down to his right. 

“What’s your specialty?” Drevis had asked him, somehow eagerly stomaching the greasy stew.

“Um, well, I’m not really supposed to pick one specific thing to specialize in until I’ve become a journeyman. But I’ve always favored Conjuration.” 

The entire table of faculty exchanged looks. 

“What?” Talvas asked nervously. “I mostly work with atronachs and golems. I know House Telvanni has a reputation—” 

“It’s not that,” Faralda interrupted. “We just recently lost our Conjuration master.” She shrugged dispassionately, turning back to her stew. “It’s just an odd coincidence.” 

“Not to speak ill of the dead,” an older Breton woman with a nasally voice interjected, “But he knew what he was getting himself into, mucking around with Dremora. I’m just glad the common folk didn’t catch wind of his…  _ other _ studies.”    
  
“Usually, when you begin a sentence ‘not to speak ill of the dead,’ it’s almost guaranteed you’re about to speak ill of the dead,” Drevis pointed out with a smirk. “Save yourself the trouble next time.” 

The Breton looked put out as the rest of the table chuckled. 

“Settling in already?” A familiar voice to Talvas’ back made him start. He jerked around to look over his shoulder. Neloth stood with his arms crossed over his chest, an unarmored Teldryn just behind him. 

“I was just—”   
  
“Well try not to get too comfortable,” Neloth cut him off. “We’re at the mercy of this new Arch-Mage, whenever she deems it fit to return. It’s best to anticipate the worst.” He eyes Talvas’ stew suspiciously. “Is that  _ all _ that’s on the menu for the evening?”    
  
“Horker,” Talvas supplied, earning a bone-weary sigh from Neloth before he wandered off, Teldryn trailing after him. 

“Such an odd couple,” Faralda remarked, watching them go. She turned back to Talvas with a less-than-confident smile. “I can’t say the Arch-Marge will be too keen on your Master, but you seem nice enough. And we  _ do _ need a new Conjuration professor.”

Talvas flushed, a strong but unidentified emotion making his ears hot. “Professor? Me?” He let out a barking laugh that was just a touch too loud. “Probably not a good idea. Knowing me, I’d blow what’s left of the College to bits.” He bit his tongue. Maybe that was in poor taste… 

Drevis laughed beside him, shifting his focus from his empty stew bowl to his goblet. “Believe me, there’s little you could do to make things any worse than they are. After the Arch-Mage…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, the previous Arch-Mage… Well.” He looked up and seemed to notice the entire table, save for Talvas, glaring daggers at him. “I’m just saying, we’ve been through a lot recently. As a community.” He took a long drink of his ale, looking out across the room. 

“The Arch-Mage probably won’t let us stay,” Talvas argued, trying not to let the terror of that possibility bleed through. “Master Neloth is right. I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”  _ Were _ his hopes up?

“She’s mercurial, that one,” the nasally Breton woman interjected. “I’m still not used to her way of things.” 

“It’s because she runs a tighter ship that Savos,” Faralda added. 

“I think she started the whole Akaviri rumor for clout,” Drevis grumbled. “Like she’s the damn Nerevarine or something.”    
Talvas laughed at that, and Drevis gave him a knowing smirk— perhaps thinking they were simply two Dunmer sharing a joke. Talvas wasn’t about to correct him. 

“What about Akavir?” he asked instead. 

An older man who had been silent for most of the conversation finally spoke up then, his voice raspy with age. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to indulge in rumors about the Arch-Mage.” 

“Oh…” Talvas flushed hot again, immediately chastised. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault, dear boy,” the man assured with a smile that actually made Talvas believe him. “I simply expected better of my colleagues.”

Drevis knocked his drink back with a roll of his eyes, sat the cup down on the table, and promptly blinked out of existence. Talvas let out a startled yelp and the rest of the table laughed. 

“Show-off,” Faralda murmured under her breath. 

—

Faralda gave Talvas a more thorough tour of the grounds after dinner, allowing him to peer curiously into cold, empty classrooms and cold, cluttered offices. Everywhere they went was  _ cold.  _ She pointed out the room that Neloth and Teldryn had been given for the evening and gave a brief explanation of the recently expired Thalmor advisor. It made Talvas shudder. He knew little of the Thalmor and didn’t care to learn more.

“So the Arch-Mage saved the school?”   
  
“You could say that,” Faralda ceded with a slight incline of her head. “She took action while most others were complacent— exhibited drive and motivation to set things right. A few of the faculty think that Mirabelle should have taken over in Savos’ place, but even Mirabelle herself seemed to agree with the decision to promote Agatha instead.” Faralda let out a low hum, her hands tucked firmly against her low back. “I’m still uncertain as to where I stand. She’s a good Arch-Mage, though. I can’t exactly complain, despite my own desire for the position.”   
  
“You think she’ll send us away, though?” The anxiety that came along with uncertainty was still gnawing at Talvas’ insides, consuming him slowly, like tiny insects.   
  
“It’s hard to say.” Faralda stepped forward and opened the door to the Hall of Countenance, allowing Talvas to enter first. “She has her reasons for doing what she does. But it’s best not to dwell on the ‘what-ifs’. You’ll have your answers soon enough. She’s never gone for more than a week.”

“Where does she go?” 

Faralda shrugged with a slow blink. “To fetch things for the College, I think. Urag sent her out after something this time around.” 

“Is that really the Arch-Mage’s job?” 

This earned a laugh. “Not in my opinion, but I think she gets restless.” Faralda dismissed herself with a wave. “Get some sleep, Talvas. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Bye,” he said lamely and a moment too late. He took a deep breath, mentally exhausted from all the socialization. 

He trudged up the stairs and into the room that had been given to him for the night. Closing the door behind him felt like sealing himself into a tomb. He cast mage light into one of the corners and the pale blue light of the spell somehow managed to make the room feel even colder than it already was. He sat down on the bed and tugged his boots off. When his bare foot touched the cold stone floor, he hissed in shock and jerked it back onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them close to his chest. In the palm of one hand he produced a small flame, watching as it flickered and danced, a gust of warmth rippling across his face. He often wondered what it must have been like to grow up on Vvardenfell. It was one of the few things Master Neloth spoke fondly of— that and his insistence that he would one day return. 

Why couldn’t they have just gone to Morrowind? Why did they have to trudge all the way into the bitter, icy mountains of Skyrim only to be turned away? 

The idea of undressing was infinitely unappealing, so Talvas crawled beneath the covers in his full robes. He felt grimy from travel, but couldn’t even bring himself to wash his face. His cold feet turned clammy beneath the roughspun sheets, keeping him awake longer than he would have been otherwise. Finally, when exhaustion overtook him, he’d managed to convince himself that leaving this place might not be such a bad thing after all. 


	4. The Arch-Mage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful, kingly beta, FourCatProductions!

The new Arch-Mage seemed to be in no rush to return to the college, which put Neloth in an irritating position of uncertainty. 

Teldryn had been in an odd mood ever since their arrival— distant, barely speaking a word outside of what was absolutely necessary for communication. On their first night in the dingy room given to them, he slept with his back pressed to Neloth’s side, turned away. Neloth had been too frustrated by the cold to put up a fuss or demand anything further. 

The following day, he, Teldryn, and Talvas had wandered into town to sell some of their goods and restock necessities. The snow fell steadily, cloaking the town in an eerie silence, broken only by the crunch of their footfall. 

Talvas purchased a thicker cloak and some fur-lined boots at the trader’s, squandering most of his money. Teldryn managed to make a good deal of coin selling some of his potions, spending half of what he’d gained on more ingredients. Neloth always appreciated that aspect of him: eternally practical, continuously planning for the next step. Teldryn had once remarked that the habit had come from years and years of being incredibly  _ un _ prepared.  _ “After a while, I became very tired of being caught with my pants down.” _ He’d followed that statement with a particularly terrible come-on that had made Neloth laugh harder than he’d expected. The memory was a fond one. Teldryn always managed to make him laugh. 

Today, though, Teldryn ignored him for the most part, shuffling through his various self-assigned tasks, eyes downcast. It was beginning to itch beneath Neloth’s skin, like he was missing something obvious. 

“All right,  _ what _ has gotten into you?” he finally asked when they were safely back in the privacy of their borrowed room. 

Teldryn set his bag down and gave Neloth a confused look. “What are you talking about?”    
  
“Oh, don’t even try with me. You’ve been morosely dragging yourself about since we stepped foot on the grounds.” He threw his own satchel onto the bed. “So out with it. Why are you sulking and what can we do to fix it?” 

Teldryn blinked at him, his brows slowly drawing together. “Neloth,” he began, sounding truly baffled. “Savos is  _ dead. _ He was my friend.  _ Your _ friend.” He paused, shaking his head the slightest bit. “I’m upset.”

“Well, how long will it take for you to get over it?” 

The bafflement shifted into frustration. “Listen.”  _ Oh, wonderful, _ Neloth thought with a roll of his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Teldryn always began his lectures with ‘listen’. “I’m going to express these things differently than you.  _ Talvas _ is going to—”    
  
“What does Talvas have to do with this?”    
  
“This isn’t just about Savos, Neloth!” Teldryn exploded, gesturing emphatically with his arms as he spoke— a terrible, Western habit of his that Neloth had never quite grown accustomed to. It made him seem wild, unhinged. 

“Then what  _ is _ it about?” 

Teldryn ran his hands over his eyes with a long-suffering groan. “Do you remember,” he dropped his arms, “When we had that little chat? About how you don’t quite feel things the way other people do?” 

Heat immediately prickled up Neloth’s neck and into his face. “Don’t patronize me.” 

“This is one of those moments. Where you’re not  _ feeling _ right.” Teldryn continued, ignoring him. “It’s not healthy, going on like this! And it doesn’t help that you berate me and Talvas—”    
  
“You  _ and _ Talvas!?” Neloth interjected. “Since when did you start caring about my apprentice?” 

“Since we became homeless, damn it!”

Homeless. 

We. 

The words struck Neloth as odd— not really concepts he’d put to his situation. He attempted to slot them into place in his mind, scrambling to make sense of them. It made him even angrier. 

“You claim ownership?” Neloth drew himself up straighter. “Over  _ my _ tower?” 

Teldryn’s eyes went wide and he let out a disbelieving laugh, spinning on his heel and beginning to pace. “How!?” He waved his arms about some more. “How is that going to be your takeaway from this!?” 

Neloth’s frustration grew into something hot and sticky, swelling his throat like the sting of an insect. He opened his mouth to speak, but Teldryn continued. 

“I’m not trying to say your tower was mine. I’m not a fucking  _ Telvanni. _ I’m just…  _ sad _ , Neloth! I’m sad about Tel Mythrin, I’m sad for Talvas, and I’m  _ especially _ sad for you.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Neloth spat. 

“Don’t you?” Teldryn was beginning to sound a bit manic and Neloth very much wanted to leave the room. Or he wanted Teldryn to leave the room. Either way, he needed the conversation to stop. “You’re not going to let yourself feel  _ anything _ about  _ any _ of this, so I’m going to do it for the both of us. Because Azura knows someone around here has to show a little empathy—”

“I never know what you expect of me!” Neloth blurted, and it was too honest. He immediately wanted to take it back, because Teldryn had gone quiet and was  _ staring _ . “I’m not going to… to  _ do _ whatever it is you expect me to do! I’m not going to mope and mourn because I  _ can’t. _ I don’t know _ how.  _ And you can carry on and parade about, continue to poke and prod and draw attention to how I’m not reacting the way you think I should.” The swell of his throat was getting worse and he sucked in a wheezing breath. “But why does it matter to  _ you _ ? What can you possibly gain from seeing me successfully perform anguish? Are you  _ still _ such a martyr that you  _ need _ to suffer on my behalf? Or perhaps you simply need to convince yourself that I’m worthy of—” His voice cracked; the skin around his chin tightened. Teldryn needed to leave. Now.   
  
“Out.” 

“Neloth…” Teldryn’s tone had softened, but Neloth’s throat was swelling shut and there was a terrible ache in his stomach and Teldryn _needed to_ _leave._

_ “Get out!” _ he roared. 

Teldryn jerked into motion, thank the Three, he actually listened. 

The door snapped shut. Neloth sat down shakily on the edge of the bed, his breath coming out in a labored wheeze. His body was reacting as if he were allergic to the confrontation— hot and inflamed. He curled his hands into fists against his knees, unable to fully close his fingers because of the  _ damn stones _ sealed beneath his skin.

And that was just it, wasn’t it? He’d lived the entirety of his long life free of attachments. Entanglements. Of course he was upset that his tower was destroyed.  _ Of course he was. _ How could he not be? But towers could be regrown, research could be restored… 

Time could be reversed.

He unfurled one trembling hand, staring at the hideous lump that protruded from its center. A constant reminder of what he was willing to risk— a reminder of what he was actually afraid of losing.

What would be the final straw that broke the strider’s back? When would Teldryn find him too alien and intolerable? Or would Neloth simply have to live his life in a way that felt unnatural and forced, pantomiming emotions he didn’t understand out of sheer desperation to keep this one bit of comfort he’d found?   
The prospect was entirely unappealing— humiliating. He felt weak and pathetic all over again. It was a stark reminder of why he _didn’t_ _do attachments._

  
Neloth stewed until his breathing returned to normal and his mind began to drift to other topics, namely the initial cause of all this sudden grief: who, or what, attacked his tower. He was leaning more and more firmly in the direction of  _ who _ . He’d had so many enemies on Vvardenfell by the time he’d been… by the time he  _ retired _ from the Council. It had been his biggest reasons for moving to Solstheim. There was the desire to preserve his studies, of course, but increasing his chances of staying alive was also wildly motivating. But it had been well over two hundred years, and he’d remained firmly removed from House politics. Why would someone try to have him killed  _ now? _

There was a soft knock at the door and Neloth startled, blinking around the room. The door creaked open when he didn’t answer and Teldryn came shuffling back in, somehow managing to look both repentant and ready for a fight. Neloth didn’t know what to say. More so, he wasn’t quite sure what he felt anymore. He’d distracted himself with hypothesizing and managed to derail his initial introspection. He had no idea how long he’d actually been sitting there, pondering over his thoughts and feelings, his current situation. Regardless, there’d been no time for him to collect his thoughts or school his expression into something manageable. So, when he looked at Teldryn, he knew his face gave away too much. He jerked his gaze away, unprepared for the expression Teldryn wore as well. 

He had managed to move on in his mind— he didn’t want to be pulled back in. 

Teldryn wandered over and sat beside him, moving slowly, deliberately, the way he always did when Neloth was on edge. They sat in silence for a long moment, neither looking at the other. 

“It was… unfair of me. To expect you to act in a certain way,” Teldryn said finally. “But I also need you to let me be upset for a bit.” 

Neloth replayed their argument in his head to refresh himself on the root cause of their disagreement. Right— Teldryn had been moping. Of course he was allowed to be upset. Had Neloth made it seem like he wasn’t? He’d simply wanted to dissolve the issue. Perhaps he should say these things out loud…    
  
“That’s acceptable,” he said instead. “I… apologize as well.” He wasn’t sure which thing he was apologizing for, but he’d learned that Teldryn liked it when he apologized. It usually seemed to clear the air between them. 

Teldryn chuckled and it sounded tired. Neloth didn’t blame him. He clapped a hand against Neloth’s knee in an almost-too-gruff sign of affection, and the sound was like snapping closed a book. Final. 

“Would you like to get dinner?” Teldryn asked. Neloth didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere. He was suddenly gripped with an inexplicable, paralyzing terror. Without thinking, he tipped forward and pressed his mouth to Teldryn’s, sliding one hand into his hair, the other around his waist. Teldryn hummed against him, his mouth soft and warm. When Neloth released him and pulled away, Teldryn was looking at him with eyes that made Neloth’s stomach twist and his chest constrict. 

“I’m not very hungry,” he said belatedly, and Teldryn’s chuckle was a little more genuine than before. 

“How about I go fetch us something before the dining hall closes down? We can just eat here.” 

“That would be… nice. Thank you.” 

Neloth watched him go and the hot, tingly feeling returned to his body. It only began to fade after Teldryn returned and they’d shared banal conversation over roasted rabbit legs and hard bread. Teldryn went to bed before him that night, pressing a kiss to Neloth’s neck as he sat hunched over his journals at the lone desk. It felt as though a chasm had opened up inside of his chest— yawning and bottomless and hungry. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to be rid of it.

—— 

The Arch-Mage had returned. 

Neloth tapped his foot impatiently as he, Teldryn, and Talvas were made to wait outside the door to her quarters. He’d demanded she see them as soon as she returned and was incensed to learn that they’d been made to sit around for an _entire_ _day_ while she ‘rested’. At least it had given him a day to get his possessions in order, should they be asked to leave. 

The door swung open.    
  
“The Arch-Mage will see you now,” the Breton, Mirabelle, informed them.

“Wonderful. The anticipation was nearly unbearable,” Neloth snipped, striding through the door and leading the way up the stairs. 

The Arch-Mage’s quarters were almost exactly as Neloth remembered, though the alchemical garden seemed to have grown a bit since they’d last been there. There was someone kneeling in front of the patch of mushrooms, methodically pulling them from the soft soil. She was a slender, stately Altmer with wheat-thin blond hair that ended just around her shoulders. Neloth should have expected as much.

“I do hope we’re not interrupting anything important,” Neloth drawled, and the Altmer snapped her gaze up to him, looking like a startled deer. 

“Nirya is simply gathering some ingredients,” a raspy voice to their right said. “Pay her no mind.” 

A small, wrinkled old woman sat at a table off to the side. Three empty chairs sat opposite her. She was looking at Neloth with a hawk-like gaze, one eye milky-white and intersected with scars. Surely this couldn’t be the new Arch-Mage. She was a human— an incredibly  _ old _ and  _ frail _ one at that. The wretched things only lived into their seventies, if they were incredibly lucky. It appeared the school would be needing another replacement, and sooner rather than later.

Neloth cleared his throat. “Arch-Mage, I presume?”    
  
The side of her mouth twitched. “You presume correctly.” She motioned to the empty chairs in front of her with a bony hand. “Please. Have a seat.”

The three of them shuffled into their seats as the Altmer picking at mushrooms left the room in a hurry. 

“My name is Agatha Wickwing,” she said once they were all settled. “I’ve been informed that you’re Telvanni mages and friends of the late Savos Aren.” 

“ _ Two _ of us are Telvanni mages,” Neloth corrected. “But yes, friends of Savos. We traveled here from Solstheim to seek asylum, as well as to make use of the College’s wealth of resources.” He raised an eyebrow challengingly. “Savos had no issue housing us before, but I’ve been made aware that you may not feel the same.” 

Agatha smiled, but there was no warmth behind it. “We’re a college, not a boarding house. If you want to remain here, you must either enroll as students or make yourselves useful.” Her gaze slid to Talvas, then Teldryn. “I’m sure men as well-traveled as yourselves have no lack of usefulness.”

“That seems reasonable enough,” Neloth agreed. “I taught two classes for Savos the last time I was here.”

“I’m aware.” Agatha leaned back in her chair. “You were still the talk of the school when I first arrived.”    
  
Neloth couldn’t help but straighten up a bit. “Naturally.” He narrowed his eyes. “And when  _ did  _ you arrive at the College? You seem to have climbed the ranks rather quickly.” 

“This isn’t a chance to interview me. This is a meeting to determine whether or not you have a place here.” She crossed one leg over the other. “So tell me. What are you willing to offer?”

“I can teach anything you might have a need for.” Neloth mimicked her posture. “If I had to narrow down my specialties, I’d say the two schools I make the most use of are Alteration and Enchantment. I would prefer to work with more advanced students, however. I don’t have much patience for beginner mages.”

Agatha let out a low, raspy laugh. “Noted.” She turned to Talvas. “And what about you?” 

Talvas jerked upright, his shoulders going rigid. “Um, I’m, ah… I’m Master Neloth’s apprentice. Talvas Fathryon.” He glanced sideways at Neloth, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I don’t know if I have what it takes to be a professor, but I—well, I have the most interest in Conjuration.” 

Agathat nodded, her expression softening marginally. “We’re in need of a Conjuration scholar.”    
  
Talvas’ nervousness seemed to increase two-fold. “I—I’ve never taught anything before. I’m not even one hundred years old yet. But I’ve been studying magic since I was very young.” 

“Age has little to do with the ability to master the schools,” Agatha argued.    
_  
Says the human, _ Neloth thought, showing immense self-restraint by not voicing it aloud. 

She turned to Teldryn. “And what of you? You must be the non-Telvanni.” 

Teldryn offered a smile— one of his signature, charming smiles that Neloth hadn’t seen in far too long. It was… strange to see it warping his face after so many weeks of dourness. “Teldryn Sero. I’m a mercenary.” 

To Neloth’s surprise, Agathat let out a low, raspy laugh. She gave Teldryn a thoughtful look, uncrossing her legs. “Is that so? Good with a sword, then?”    
  
“Best swordsman in all of Morrowind.” 

“Combat magic?”    
  
Teldryn faltered momentarily. “Only the basics,” he said. “I favor one-handed weapons and destruction magic. Some conjuration— atronachs.” He grinned again, his voice dropping low. “I have plenty of field experience.” By Azura, he sounded like he was trying to woo the damn woman.

Agatha hummed thoughtfully as she got to her feet. She moved spryly for an old human, with more fluidity than Neloth expected. She was also incredibly diminutive in stature— probably a good foot and a half shorter than himself. He, Talvas, and Teldryn got to their feet as well. 

“I’ll have assigned roles for each of you by the end of the night,” she said, turning and walking towards the alchemical station. “For the time being, however, I need to mull things over.” She turned to face them, raising one gnarled finger. “Before you leave, you said you also wished to use the College’s resources. In what way?” 

Neloth pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. “I was recently the victim of several attacks meant to both destroy me and my research. I need to find out who is behind them, but the ritual to do so is…” He swirled his hand in the air. “Complex. It would leave me vulnerable. I need the College’s walls more than I need its knowledge.” 

“And do you have reason to believe this…  _ attacker _ may follow you to Winterhold?” 

“It’s possible, though I’d have to assume the travel alone would be a deterrent.” Neloth admitted. “To attack a den of mages would be foolish. They were foolish to attack me to begin with. They simply got lucky.” 

“In my experience, I’ve found that luck  _ only _ favors the foolish,” Agatha responded. “And the prophesied.”

Teldryn stiffened. 

Neloth pressed his lips into a thin line— the barest hint of a smile. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve led a very full life,” he sneered. “But don’t let us keep you. I look forward to your…  _ assignments. _ ” He jerked his chin in the direction of the door, leading the three of them out of the Arch-Mage’s quarters. Agatha watched them go in silence. 

“She’s odd,” Neloth remarked once they were back in the Hall of the Elements. 

“I like her,” Teldryn offered with a shrug. “Though the prophesied comment was… a bit on the nose.” 

“Perhaps Savos told her about you?” Neloth suggested. 

“I don’t see why he would.” 

“She said she’d have our assignments,” Talvas interrupted. “So, does that mean she’s letting us stay?”

Neloth hummed, stroking his beard. “I suppose it does.” 

——

“Mysticism!?” Neloth held the small scroll of parchment at arms length. “Are you quite certain you want me teaching this?” He couldn’t help but laugh. “House Telvanni treats Mysticism a bit differently than your average mage from Cyrodiil.” 

Agatha cocked an eyebrow. “I’m well aware.” The soft skin beneath her eyes folded into dozens of wrinkles as she smiled wickedly at him. “I wouldn’t have proposed it otherwise.” She turned to Talvas and Teldryn. “Any questions?”    
Talvas shook his head, staring mutely down at his own curl of parchment. Neloth could make out a scrawling title that included the word ‘Conjuration’ along the top. 

“Several, actually,” said Teldryn, raising a finger. “Namely, why on Nirn would a college for mages need a class on combat?” 

“Because mages are notoriously weak,” Agatha replied as if it were obvious. “And we’re in a country that’s currently being ripped in half by a Civil War. Among other threats. I want my students to know how to protect themselves when their magicka is depleted.” 

“So you want to produce battle mages?” Teldryn pressed, his tone growing sharp. “Want to manufacture soldiers, do you?” 

“Not even remotely,” Agatha scoffed with an upturned lip. “Mister Sero, if I were secretly trying to churn out battle mages for the Empire, I would have at least had enough tact to keep Ancano alive.” 

Neloth’s ears perked up but he said nothing, glancing at Agatha out of the corner of his eye. Who  _ was _ this woman? Teldryn glowered at his parchment, but mumbled his acceptance of the position. Agatha seemed ready to be done with them. 

“The number of classes you wish to teach, and the frequency with which you choose to teach them, I shall leave to your discretion. You’ll each be up for review in a month.”

Neloth huffed under his breath.  _ Review. _ By any luck they wouldn’t still be here in a month. Yet, inexplicably, he managed to hold his tongue. 

“If you’re not working, you’re not earning your keep, which means you don’t eat here, you don’t sleep here, you don’t use our resources,” Agatha continued. “You’ll have a week to prepare. After that…” She gestured vaguely to their surroundings with a too-pleasant smile. “You’ll be held to the same standards as every other faculty member.” 

“Wonderful,” Neloth remarked flatly. 

“Have a good evening, gentlemen.” Agatha turned on her heel, striding on short legs in the direction of her quarters. “Good luck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elusive Arch-Mage finally appears! You can see a quick portrait I painted of her [here](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/657703007210700810/729922901301657650/image0.png).
> 
> **Also!!!** The incredibly talented [worthlesssix](https://www.instagram.com/worthlesssix/) drew a jaw-droppingly gorgeous short comic of a scene from Breathing Water! Check it out:   
> [[Page 1]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/749762954890575923/757448918484254740/breathing_water_comic1.png)  
> [[Page 2]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/749762954890575923/757448927883821155/breathing_water_comicpg2.png)  
> [[Page 3]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/749762954890575923/757448935550877706/breathing_water_comicpg3.png)  
> Follow her on instagram, if you don't already!


	5. Deflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my amazing beta, [FourCatProductions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions), who is unbelievably talented. He's participating in Kinktober and has already written some hella prompt fills for that -- so if that's your tune, go check out his profile and see what all he's got! Peruse to your kinky heart's content.

Teldryn stared down at his blank piece of parchment, absently brushing the tip of the quill feather over his lower lip. For the first time in over a century, he felt completely out of his depth. He compulsively dipped the quill in his ink pot again, then proceeded to stare at the blank page. 

What was a combat class  _ supposed _ to entail? Especially one for mages.   
  


“Making stunning progress, I see,” came Neloth’s voice from over his shoulder. 

Teldryn growled and smacked his quill down on the table, causing flecks of ink to dapple the bottom of the page. “I don’t see you working on your class,” he snapped.

“I’ve been studying magic for over seven hundred years. I don’t need a bloody syllabus.” Neloth dipped to press a quick kiss to the side of Teldryn’s neck, sending goosebumps down his arm. “Besides, if for whatever reason one of us doesn’t live up to the Arch-Mage’s rather… imponderable expectations, I’d rather have spent my week mining the College’s resources and gathering everything I need for my ritual.” 

Teldryn shifted in his chair, propping his arm along the back to watch Neloth flit about their room, rummaging through his belongings to pull out several journals. “What are you planning, by the way? You never told me any specifics.” 

“That’s because you wouldn’t understand the specifics.”

“Fair point, but I’m still curious.” 

Neloth paused and smiled a bit impishly. “Before we left, I managed to scrape up a few samples from the ash spawn that attacked the tower.” He pulled a dusty glass vial from his pack, filled with what Teldryn could only assume was ash. “The ritual is complex and a bit archaic, but I should be able to use the spawn ash to locate the origin of the creatures. As well as this.” He produced a palm-sized rock that pulsed faintly with a deep, red light. 

A prickle of nervousness had the hairs on the back of Teldryn’s neck standing on end. “What is that?” 

“A heart stone,” Neloth explained, eyes glittering. “I had been conducting a few different experiments with them a few decades ago. I put my studies on hold after the untimely, and frankly  _ annoying, _ death of my previous apprentice. But now…” He held the stone up to eye level, turning it between his fingers. “I believe  _ they _ may be responsible for the plague of ash spawn.” 

“Yes, but what  _ is _ it?” Teldryn asked again.

Neloth gave him an annoyed look. “I just told you. It’s a heart stone.” 

“Why call it that?” Teldryn pressed with growing discomfort. 

“Well,” Neloth pulled at his beard with his free hand, “I assume you weren’t on Solstheim when Red Mountain erupted. But the entire island was pelted with hardened magma. The sky turned black and fiery volcanic rock rained from the sky. It was quite the sight. But the deposits from the eruption are scattered throughout the island. With some care, the stones can be mined from the remaining deposits.” 

“But why call it a  _ heart _ stone?”

“Teldryn, what are you—” Neloth cut himself off and raised his eyebrows, his expression softening into one of understanding. “Ah.” He slid the stone into a small pouch on his hip and out of sight. “I think you know why.”

Teldryn’s face drained of warmth. “Your old research… What were you trying to do with them? The stones.”

A too-long silence stretched between them as Neloth’s gaze swept across Teldryn’s face, his jaw set tight. 

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. It was a failed experiment. Besides, you should focus on your own little assignment.” He picked up his satchel and swept from the room. “If you need me I’ll be in the Arcanaeum.”

The door closed with a solid clunk and Teldryn grunted in annoyance.  _ Typical. _ No answers, only deflections. Neloth’s specialty, of course… Teldryn straightened up with a sudden flash of inspiration.  _ Deflections… _ That was as good a place to start as any for teaching combat: learning to dodge and block, how to use an enemy’s momentum against them. Teldryn dipped his quill and began to scribble, the ideas seeming to ripple outwards in his mind. He’d need to acquire practice swords. The last thing he’d need were grave injuries on his watch.

Soon enough, he’d managed to fill two pages with a rough lesson plan. Deflection and avoidance the first week, defence the second, offense the third… He’d have to come up with something for the fourth week. He had time. The gnawing anxiety of failing at his task threatened to eat away at him, so Teldryn shuffled his notes into the desk drawer and got to his feet to stretch. He wondered briefly where Talvas was before deciding that he’d rather go bother Neloth some more instead. Their conversation from earlier had left a strange taste in his mouth. 

The taste of ash. 

——

The Arcanaeum was relatively full compared to when he and Neloth had last been there. In fact, on his walk over, Teldryn had seen more students than he’d  _ ever _ remembered seeing the first time. Perhaps the new Arch-Mage really was turning the school around for the better. 

He scanned the various tables for any sign of Neloth, finding him absent. With a sigh, he strode forwards towards the main desk. When he finally met Urag’s gaze, the old orc was wearing a smug half-smirk, arms folded over his broad chest. 

“Look what the cat dragged in.” He got to his feet as Teldryn rounded the desk. They clasped forearms and Teldryn couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh as Urag pulled him in for a gruff hug. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you around these parts again.” 

“I’ve found it useless to try to predict my own future by now,” Teldryn said with a grin, clapping Urag affectionately on the shoulder. “I’m rarely surprised by the strange places I end up. How’ve you been, Urag? I’m…” Teldryn paused, his posture softening. “I was so sorry to hear about Savos. Truly.” 

Urag brushed him off with a grunt, sitting down heavily in his chair. “I can’t say that I don’t miss the old bastard. He was a good friend. Good mer… or at least he tried to be.” He let out a long sigh through his nose. “But life goes on, and I still have my memories. He lives here now.” Urag thumped his chest, not quite meeting Teldryn’s eye. “But personally I’ve been fine.” He glanced back over then. “What about you? You and your wizard have a nice honeymoon?” 

“ _ My _ wizard?” Teldryn let out a low chuckle as he leaned against the desk, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t let him hear you say that. But I’m actually looking for him. He said he’d be here.”

“Down in the vaults.” Urag motioned over his shoulder with his chin. “I have to say, at least he makes my job interesting. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to divine what he’s gonna ask for next.”

“What  _ did _ he ask for?” Teldryn pried, lowering his voice and leaning in a little closer.

Urag raised an eyebrow. “Information on some old magic.  _ Very _ old magic. Psijic stuff, which was odd to hear from a Telvanni’s mouth.” 

“Hmm, yes. He’s being cryptic. Not telling me what he’s up to.” Teldryn sighed, slumping even further over the desk. “I’m worried about him.” 

Urag jutted out his tusks. “Well go after him.” 

Teldryn winked conspiratorially as he pushed off the desk. 

The descent down into the vaults was a strange sort of deja vu. Though time and memory tended to warp in new and increasingly strange ways the older Teldryn got, it truly did feel like he’d only been there just yesterday. The cold, stale air certainly wasn’t something he recalled with fondness; the smell of dampness coupled with the crackling scent of magicka: sigils and wards gently preserving the tomes. Teldryn pulled a small flame into his palm, both to keep himself warm and use it as a light. The massive room was nearly silent, leaving him to wonder if Neloth was down there at all. Then, in the distance, there was the soft sound of a page turning. Peering down row after row of packed shelves, he eventually found Neloth hunched over one of the long tables, surrounded by stacks of books. He jerked upright as Teldryn approached, then scrubbed a hand across his eyes with a loud sigh. 

“Must you sneak up on me like that?”

“I apologize for my stealth. It’s a force of habit,” Teldryn responded with a grin. Seeing Neloth like this had a bittersweet tinge of nostalgia to it. He let the fire in his palm flicker out before sliding an arm around Neloth’s shoulder, peering over him at the tome open on the table. “So, I know you said I wouldn’t understand, but try your best to put it into terms a poor simpleton like myself might grasp.” 

Neloth laughed— one of his genuine, amused laughs— and Teldryn pressed a kiss to his cheek before straightening up and taking a seat beside him.

“Well, essentially, I’ll be doing what it usually takes at least three Psijics to do.” 

“Sounds perfectly safe and reasonable.” 

Neloth scoffed. “Please. The ritual is complex, but the magic itself is relatively basic. It all comes down to accessing the channels of Magnus.” Neloth side-eyed Teldryn, raising a brow. “I assume you don’t know what that is.” 

“You know what they say about assuming,” Teldryn shot back. “That you’re probably right.” 

Neloth laughed again and Teldryn was feeling particularly pleased with himself. 

“Actually.” Neloth turned momentarily thoughtful. “That might not be a bad topic for my class.”

“See?” Teldryn goaded, nudging Neloth with his shoulder. “I’m being helpful. I can be helpful sometimes.” 

“You’re helpful quite often. I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“May I get that in writing?” 

“You’re in a mood,” Neloth declared through a chuckle. “And you’re distracting me. Which is  _ not _ helpful, mind you.” 

Teldryn leaned in a bit closer. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Shoo. Away with you.” Neloth flapped a hand at him. “Let me do my work. Unless you had a terribly important reason for coming to find me.” 

“Maybe I just missed you.” 

“Yes, well, absence does make the heart grow fonder. So go away.”

Teldryn laughed at that, pushing to his feet. He felt better, which he supposed was his reason for truding down here in the first place— on a quest to relieve some of the tension from earlier. He tugged down Neloth’s scarf to place a kiss on the side of his neck. Neloth caught his wrist as Teldryn began to pull away, holding him there a moment longer. His expression was nervous, unsure, his wide eyes catching the glint of the magelight. Teldryn was never sure how to predict Neloth’s random bouts of insecurity like this. So he waited, gently holding his gaze without any demand. Then, tentatively, Neloth tugged him closer, leaned forward to press his lips to Teldryn’s. Soft, warm. It was in these kinds of moments that Teldryn felt it the most, almost put it into words… His heart curled like a serpent in his chest, burning, aching fiercely. But then Neloth released his wrist and turned his attention back to his book, the tips of his ears tinged ruby. Teldryn simply smirked and straightened up, pulling fire back into his hand to light his way out. 

——

“Practice swords,” Agatha repeated neutrally. 

Teldryn nodded. “Unless you want the class to be deadlier than it needs to be.” 

“Certainly not.” She got to her feet and strolled over to a small metal safe pushed up against the wall. “How many will you need?” 

“How many students will I have?” 

She smirked at him. “So far the class is small. Four students. But it may grow.” 

“Then four to start out.” 

“Reasonable.” Agatha procured a small coin pouch from the safe before locking it up and casting a nasty-looking ward with a snap of her fingers. “This should cover whatever classroom expenses you should have.” She set the pouch in Teldryn’s hand. It had a surprising amount of weight to it. 

“I appreciate it.” He gave a short bow and turned on his heel. 

“How are you with unarmed combat?” Agatha asked before he could make it very far. 

Teldryn turned around. “Decent. Why?” He tied the pouch to his belt. “Is that something you’d want me to teach? Because my only training on that front comes from one too many bar room brawls.”

Agatha chuckled. “Just curious. Perhaps eventually.” 

“Anything else, Arch-Mage?” he decided to ask before attempting to leave again. 

“That’s all. Best of luck with your first class.” 

—— 

The week came and went in a blur. Teldryn barely slept, constantly up late worrying over techniques and wasting hours panicking over whether or not he should actually be in charge of impressionable young mages. For once, Neloth had been the one to pull him to bed, running a cool hand through Teldryn’s hair and prompting him to straighten up from his slumped posture over his notes. 

“You’re going to make yourself ill,” Neloth had said. 

“You  _ do _ care about me,” Teldryn had joked sleepily. 

A scoff. “Of course I do.” 

And so he’d let himself be led, sliding beneath the thick woolen sheets and into Neloth’s thin arms. He sighed and looped his arm around Neloth’s waist as they adjusted to fit together like nesting spoons. And without much more of a fuss, Teldryn managed to fall asleep near immediately, comforted by the strange knowledge that he lived a life in which a powerful Telvanni wizard cared about his well-being. 

—— 

Teldryn’s class was intimidatingly small. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected— how many students at a college for magic wanted to learn hand-to-hand combat  _ at all _ ? He’d no idea what Agatha had been thinking. Still, he had a job to do, and he was damn well going to do it. 

“The magicka that we store in our bodies, as you all know, is finite.” Teldryn began his practiced speech, shrugging off his outer robe and dropping it on the steps. He’d been given the main chamber in the Hall of the Elements for his class since it provided the most room. Now, with a small gaggle of frightened students peering owlishly at him from their huddle, it seemed like far too much space.

“You’re here to learn what to do when your reserve of magicka runs out and you need to defend yourself. You’re taking the proper steps towards becoming a more well-rounded mage.” He unsheathed his sword and the students all collectively took a step backwards. He sighed, twirling it once, twice around his body before sliding the flat of the blade across his arm and returning it to its sheath.

“You will  _ not _ be handling real swords until much later in the class. For today, you’re going to learn the basics of avoidance and deflection. But first, we warm up.” 

After a few confused and wary glances were exchanged, one by one the students shed their thick outer robes and laid them out against the steps. Silent and shivering, they shuffled forward and formed a line in front of Teldryn. He guided them through his basic warmup exercises that loosened the joints and strengthened the muscles. The hall echoed with pops and cracks, making the students laugh at their own expense as their stiff bodies slowly began to awaken and a healthy flush returned to their cheeks. After they completed the last exercise, Teldryn retrieved his sword.

“Who all has experience with swordsmanship?” 

A single student raised his hand— a Nord boy with shaggy brown hair and a square face.  _ Better than nothing, _ Teldryn thought. He motioned for the boy to step forward.

“What’s your name?” 

“Onmund, sir.” He was less of a boy up close. A full-grown human. Despite his broad shoulders, a dusting of rosey pink still dappled his cheeks, retaining some of his boyishness. He met Teldryn’s gaze with a look that was half fear, half determination.

“Onmund,” Teldryn repeated, if only to practice the Nordic lilt. He pulled his sword from his sheath once again and presented it to the lad. “I want you to take a swing at me.”

Onmund’s eyes grew wide. “Is… Are you sure?” 

“It’ll be fine.” Teldryn ran his thumb along the blade of the sword to illustrate. “Master Neloth put a temporary enchantment on this sword. It could barely cut butter right now. So don’t hold back.”   
Onmund took the sword with no small amount of trepidation, but from the very first moment he gripped it, Teldryn could tell that the lad knew his way around a blade. 

“So just… a downward swing?” 

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re about to do,” Teldryn replied, widening his stance, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Just do it.” 

Onmund lunged. All his weight went into a wide horizontal swing. It was fast, but reckless— the shift of his hips gave him away before his arms had even begun to move. 

Teldryn ducked beneath the swing, palm striking Onmund’s exposed shoulder. The boy staggered and nearly fell, dropping the sword in an attempt to maintain his balance.

“Nice one!” Teldryn praised easily. “That was perfect.” He turned to address the remaining students as Onmund stooped sheepishly to pick up the fallen sword. “When an enemy is attacking you at full speed and you have no way to block the blow, your best plan is to use your attacker’s weight and speed against them.” He motioned Onmund back over. “Now I want you to do the same thing again, but slow. As if we’re underwater.” 

He walked through the steps again, pointing out to the class where his weight was centered, how he kept his own center of gravity balanced as he stepped out and pushed Onmund away. He repeated the demonstration twice before telling the students to pair off and practice with the freshly carved wooden practice swords. 

“Nobody is to go full-out, like Onmund so nicely demonstrated. The swords may not be deadly, but they’ll still hurt like a bitch.” The class tittered with nervous laughter and Teldryn stepped back to watch. He felt good. Confident. The students were engaged and alert and  _ learning.  _

When it was time, he ended their lesson with some basic stretching. The stone floors were hard and unyielding against his knees. He’d have to speak to the Arch-Mage about possibly finding soft mats or cushions. His mind was buzzing with everything he wanted to cover in the next class as he gathered his things. He took a long look around the great hall, smiling to himself. 

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROFESSOR TELDRYN!! Talvas is up next~ 
> 
> (All I want for my birthday are comments ;u; If you're able. Tell me what you think of the story so far! Any theories or predictions? I always love hearing from whoever is reading this!).


	6. Conjuration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my amazing beta, FourCatProductions!

The stack of books and scrolls in Talvas’ arms threatened to tumble to the floor right as he arrived at his assigned classroom. He shuffled awkwardly to the old desk at the head of the room, letting the contents spill none-too-gently across its surface. He winced, immediately straightening the books and organizing the scrolls. Thankfully the room was empty, and hopefully  _ would _ be empty for another half hour. Until his class started.  _ His _ class. 

Talvas took out his lesson plan, smoothed it out across the desk, and put a book on either corner of the parchment to force it flat. It was a mess of a lesson plan, ideas crossed out and hastily re-written only to be scribbled over again. Eventually, he’d given up on deciding whether or not it would be imprudent to have a group of beginner mages summoning scamps straight out the gate and decided that the first class would just have to be a lecture. The theory of Conjuration was as important as the act itself. 

He opened the books weighing down his syllabus, glancing through the pages he’d marked. He’d never taught a class before. In fact, before a few days ago, when he’d sat in on the Illusion master’s class, he’d never even attended a proper class himself. Neloth’s method was hardly your average teaching environment. Most weeks, Talvas felt more like a pincushion than a proper Telvanni apprentice. He had  _ zero _ qualifications to be teaching a room full of aspiring mages.

With a heaving sigh he sat down, slumping over the books. The class hadn’t even begun and he already felt like an impostor.

A soft knock at the door had Talvas’ head jerking up so quickly that something in his neck twinged. A thin Dunmer girl stood in the doorway, her hood pulled up around her long face and a book clutched tightly beneath her arm. 

“Conjuration?” she asked softly.

“Yeah! Yes. Conjuration. Though, uh…” Talvas looked to one of the slender windows that lined the wall to his right, as if it might somehow tell him the time. “Class won’t begin for a bit longer. But, you’re welcome to wait until it does! Wait in here, I mean.” He bit his tongue to keep himself from rambling on and offered a pained smile.

The girl returned his smile with a similarly wary one, then ducked her head and moved to sit at one of the tables in the middle of the room. Awkwardness passed between them as Talvas continued to read his books and the girl shuffled her belongings about. 

After a long bout of silence, she finally blurted, “Are you from Vvardenfel?” 

Talvas looked up again, startled. “Um. No, I’m from Solstheim. Born there.” 

He shoulders sagged with relief and she offered more of a genuine smile. “Oh. Okay.” She fidgeted with her quill. “So you’ve never been to Sadrith Mora? Or the settlements?” 

Talvas shook his head. “Master Neloth says he plans to return eventually, but he never makes it clear exactly when.” 

“I grew up hearing stories about him,” she murmured, dropping her gaze. “He sounds awful.” 

“Are you House Telvanni?”

She nodded. “Brelyna Maryon. I grew up in the eastern settlements of Morrowind. The College is really one of the only proper establishments for formal magicka education these days. I’m pretty sure my parents enrolled me before I was even born.” 

Talvas let out a nervous laugh. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-eight,” Belryna replied quietly. “They want me back by my fiftieth so I can begin an apprenticeship, but…” She trailed off, averting her gaze.

Just then, two other students strolled into the class, talking to each other loudly. They stopped abruptly, looking from Talvas to Brelyna. 

“Conjuration?” one of them asked. 

“Yes!” Talvas assured, leaping to his feet too fast and banging his knee against the desk. He ground his teeth into a smile, ignoring the pain and gesturing to the open tables. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.”

He and Brelyna didn’t get to talk anymore after that, as the class slowly began to fill with a trickle of students. Talvas had never seen such a varied group of people before. There were not one, but  _ two _ Khajiit, as well as an Argonian. The humans were all round-faced and rosy cheeked, eyeing Talvas curiously and whispering behind their hands. They all looked like children and Talvas suddenly felt his age, all ninety-three years of them. He swallowed around a thick lump in his throat as the final student wandered in and closed the door behind them. The class had fallen silent and everyone was looking at him. 

Talvas once again pushed to his feet and cleared his throat. “Welcome to Novice Conjuration. My name is Talvas Fathryon. I’m an apprentice of House Telvanni and I’ll be taking over for Phinis Gestor. Now, uh—”

A hand shot up in the middle of the class and Talvas blinked away his surprise before pointing to the student, a lanky Bosmer girl with stringy brown hair. “Yes?” 

“Are we going to be learning necromancy?” she asked with a smile, too many sharp teeth behind her thin lips. 

Talvas swallowed. “Um. I know house Telvanni doesn’t have the best reputation when it comes to nec—” 

“Don’t be stupid, Ciival,” a charcoal gray Khajiit hissed beneath his breath. His eyes flashed to Talvas warily. “Even our last teacher could not control his own studies.” 

Talvas cleared his throat and furrowed his brow, drawing himself up straighter. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take questions at the end. Please,” he added. “I’d like to start today’s class with a bit of theory.” 

The entire class groaned in unison and Talvas felt his heart sink. 

“O-or we could do something practical?”  _ No, Talvas, you idiot! Stick to the lesson plan! _ This seemed to stir a response from the class, enthusiasm returning to their faces as they straightened and shifted. 

“Like what?” the Bosmer girl, Ciival, asked. She leaned forward against the table, propping her chin on her knuckles. 

Talvas swallowed. “Uh… How about basic banishing?” He straightened up, struck with inspiration. “Conjuration is all well and good, but it’s equally important to know how to send things back to Oblivion, regardless of what form they take.” He thought briefly to his failed stint with an ash guardian and shuddered. A hard lesson learned, there. He walked around to the front of his desk. “Let’s push these tables back and make some space.” 

After some shuffling about and the loud, creaking scrape of wooden table legs against the stone floor, Talvas directed the students to stand opposite him across the room. His gaze slid across each of their faces, praying to Azura that he didn’t accidentally get any of them killed. 

“So, I don’t want any of you summoning anything more powerful than a scamp, even if you can. An imp might be better. But everyone takes a turn summoning and banishing. I’ll be here to intervene if needed.” 

To Talvas’ surprise and relief, most of the students were fairly skilled already. It was no wonder they didn’t want to hear a lecture on theory. There was only one minor incident when a short, Breton girl with fiery red hair nearly lost control of her scamp and Talvas had to step in. He banished the creature with a quick flourish of magicka, sending it screeching back into Oblivion. The class reacted with gasps and excited noises. Talvas decided to use it as a teachable moment. 

“It’s easy to banish your own summoned entity, but it’s another skill entirely to banish someone else’s. That’ll be the next exercise. I’m going to summon an imp and you’re going to banish it. One at a time. Who wants to go first?”

There was a long pause during which the students exchanged nervous looks, none eager to volunteer. Then, Brelyna stepped forward, her expression nervous but determined. Talvas gave her a supportive smile. 

“It’s about loosening the tether that binds them, both to our reality and to their conjuror,” he explained, widening his stance. Brelyna mirrored him, shifting her feet and bringing her arms up in front of her. 

“When we summon creatures from other planes, the method we use was established by Corvus Direnni in the first era.” He smirked and added, “But don’t let any other Telvanni hear that I’m speaking highly of the Direnni clan.” The class tittered with laughter and Talvas felt one hundred feet tall. “What I mean is, through this method we simultaneously summon and bind the creature to ourselves so that it’s under our control. With this being the case, there are two steps to banishing another mage’s conjured creature. The first is to break the tether to their conjuror, which frees the creature and allows it to turn on the mage who originally summoned it. The second, break its tether to our realm. You have to do the first in order to do the second, unless your Will greatly overpowers whoever you’re up against. It's easiest if you envision a literal tether.”

He softened his tone, speaking more directly to Brelyna. “When I pull the imp into our plane and you sever its connection to me, you have to act quickly to banish it. Think you’re up for it?”

“Yes,” she assured with a nod, raising her hands. Electric blue magicka swirled to life in her palms and Talvas took a deep breath. 

He reached into his reserves, envisioning the small portal to Oblivion in his mind before slipping the tendrils of his magicka into the liminal space between worlds, prying it open. 

With a flick of his wrist, a swirling purple portal materialized, an imp leaping out with a snarl. He winced with surprise as his connection to the creature was immediately severed. It shrieked and slammed its meaty fists against the ground, beady red eyes sizing up the class. Talvas felt his heart shoot into his throat as it lunged for Brelyna, open-mouthed and slobbering. Without flinching, Brelyna curled her magicka like a whip, stepping towards the imp and slicing across it with vibrant violet light. The imp let out another ear-piercing shriek as it lost its balance and tumbled head-first into a newly appeared portal in the floor.

Talvas’ ears rang in the ensuing silence. Brelyna was looking at him with a challenging twinkle in her eyes, her breathing only slightly labored. 

“Well done,” he murmured, and the class immediately burst into excited conversation. 

It was slow going, but one by one, Talvas walked each student through the practice of banishing his summoned imp. None of them were able to do so quite as quickly as Brelyna had, but they all managed the exercise without incident (or untimely death). Then, before he knew it, the class was over. 

He’d survived, and so had his students. 

Exhausted, he watched with pride as each of the students,  _ his _ students, helped each other move the desks back into place and gathered their belongings, all chattering excitedly about their accomplishments.

“Please read Corvus Direnni’s  _ Principles of Conjuration _ if you haven’t already! There will be a short quiz on Middas,” Talvas announced to a chorus of groans and huffs. He smiled to himself as he shuffled his notes away and cleared his desk, the last students trailing out of the classroom. When he looked up Brelyna was hovering in the doorway, clutching her satchel to her chest. She looked at him for a moment too long before clearing her throat. 

“Good first class,” she declared. Her eyes widened slightly and she pulled her hood down further over her face. “Thank you. See you Middas. Bye.” Before Talvas could open his mouth to reply, she’d spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall. He licked his lips and blinked away his surprise, scooping his books and scrolls into his arms and heading out of the classroom towards the library. 

—

“Careful with those!” Urag barked, shooting a hand out to grab a book that teetered dangerously on the edge of the desk. “I’ve ripped a man’s throat out for less.” 

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Talvas quickly plucked the book from Urag’s hands and stacked it neatly atop the others. “Thank you so much for letting me borrow these.” 

Urag grumbled something under his breath that Talvas couldn’t quite make out. It may not have been Tamrielic. He was about to apologize again when a familiar, grating voice called his name from across the Arcanaeum. He turned around slowly, forcing a pleasant smile as Neloth approached. 

“Master Neloth.” 

“I’ve been looking for you all over,” Neloth snipped, his fresh robes billowing around his ankles dramatically as he strode across the room. 

“Keep your voice down,” Urag growled, earning a withering glare from Neloth. 

“I was in class,” Talvas explained. “I’m teaching my class on Morndas, Middas, and Fredas.”

“Good, then you’re free tomorrow.” He handed Talvas a rather hefty tome. “I need you to read this and copy any pertinent information regarding astrological alignments and—” 

“I have  _ classes _ to teach, Master Neloth. I’m not sure if I’ll have time to read all this.” 

Neloth stared at him for a long moment in silence, his eyes slowly narrowing. “I’m sorry, am I to understand that you’ve forfeited your position as my apprentice in favor of a life in academia?”

Panic ripped through Talvas’ body, bright and hot. “No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just meant, well, I don’t want the Arch-Mage—” 

“Don’t concern yourself with the Arch-Mage. You are a Telvanni apprentice, first and foremost. Your little,” he fluttered a hand, “ _ classes _ can wait.” 

“But—” 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

Teldryn appeared then, padding silently up from behind Neloth with an expression of smug curiosity. He was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt that left his arms bare, tattoos winding around his bicep and capping his shoulders. The seams of the shirt were slightly split, revealing even more tattooed skin along his well-muscled sides. Talvas couldn’t help but stare. 

“Where have you been?” Neloth demanded, looking him up and down, the tips of his ears slowly darkening to a deep purple. 

Teldryn huffed, his brow crinkling in confusion. “Teaching my class. You… you  _ do _ recall that we have to do that, right?” 

“You taught your class looking like that?” 

“It’s a physically demanding class.” 

“You look like you should be dancing in the House of Earthly Delights.”

Teldryn winked at him. “So you’re saying I look good.” Neloth’s already dark flush somehow deepened, and Talvas had to look away in disbelief. He managed to catch Urag’s eye. The orc looked entirely unamused. 

Neloth sputtered for a moment before asking, “Did you  _ need _ something?” 

“To see if you wanted to get dinner.” Teldryn gripped Neloth’s elbow, beginning to steer him out of the Arcanaeum. “I’m starving.” 

To Talvas’ surprise, Neloth allowed himself to be led, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away. “Yes, I’m sure you worked up an appetite peacocking for the impressionable young mages.”

Teldryn’s laughter faded in the distance as the two of them made their way out of sight. Talvas shifted the weight of the book to his other arm, daring to make eye contact with Urag again. The orc was shaking his head after them. His yellow eyes met Talvas’. 

“That book doesn’t leave this room.” 

“But—” 

“No buts. If you’re going to do the reading for him, it has to be in here.” 

Talvas sighed and made his way over to one of the empty tables. He gathered a spare scroll, a quill, and an ink pot and began the arduous task of combing through the text. It was archaic, laden with words like “morpholiths”, “hyperagonal media”, and “transliminal mechanic”. It made Talvas’ eyes want to cross. He held his spot as he closed the book to glance at the title.  _ Liminal Bridges, by Camilonwe of Alinor. _

What on Nirn was Neloth getting himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I may be taking a small hiatus from this story. I've only got two more chapters after this one written up, and I've hit a little bit of a block. I'm gonna try to use NaNoWriMo to really crank out some words, but I'm also working on a different story right now as well that's taking up a bit of my brain space.
> 
> Either way, I appreciate all the love and feedback so far! Y'all are all really amazing. <3 Hopefully I'll be able to break through this wall I've run into and get to some of the good good action that's waiting in the chapters ahead of us.


	7. Mysticism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from hiatus and ready to dive back into this story! 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to FourCatProductions for being my second pair of eyes and giving me that delicious validation. Shorty, you're my angel.

The classroom was surprisingly full when Neloth pushed through the door and walked to the head of the room. The soft murmur of conversation died immediately as all eyes tracked him with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. 

“Whatever you think you know about the school of Mysticism, I want you to forget it.” He let the book in his arm fall heavily against the desk. “With the blessed collapse of the Mages Guild, the study of Mysticism has become more and more scant, very rarely leaving the halls of the Psijics on the isle of Artaeum. However, the Telvanni have known and utilized the practices of Mysticism for millennia.” 

He opened the book. There was a soft, collective noise of scrolls being unfurled and ink pot lids being flipped open. 

“First, the thing you must understand above all else is that to study Mysticism is to open your mind to the inherent paradox of reality. It is not for the faint of heart, nor for the weak willed. My intent is  _ not _ to lead any of you into madness, though it is always a possibility. Now…” Neloth heard someone in the front row of the class audibly swallow. “What types of spells and rituals fall under the category of Mysticism?” He looked out at the class expectantly. 

Silence followed. 

“Sometimes, I ask questions that aren’t meant to be answered, but this one  _ is _ ,” he snapped. “So speak up and don’t waste my time.”

“Absorption spells.” The answer came from a tall, thin Dunmer in the middle of the room. His dark hair was pulled into a high bun and his accent carried the faintest Nordic lilt. Neloth couldn’t help but smile in amusement. 

“Correct. What else?” 

“Teleportation,” the Dunmer answered again. 

“Correct, again. Are you the speaker for the class?”    
  
He shrugged, looking around coolly. “Nobody else is answering.”

“Very observant. What else?” Neloth asked him directly this time.

“Soul trapping.”

“What else?” 

The Dunmer opened his mouth, then paused, faltering. He looked to one of his classmates beside him, then back to Neloth. “Divination?” 

“Correct.” A slow smile spread across Neloth’s face. “But why?”

“Um…” The mer’s cool demeanor was gone, replaced with nervous doubt. “I… don’t know.” 

“Then this is where we shall start for today. I do hope the rest of you were writing all this down while your classmate carried your dead weight.” There was a flurry of movement as quills frantically scratched across parchment. 

“We’ll begin with the principles of Mysticism.” 

—

The Midden wasn’t nearly as difficult to find as Neloth expected. A simple hatch half-covered by hay along the inner wall, the entrance was practically begging for an innocent student to tumble head-first into danger. He’d have to cast a chameleon spell on the door to prevent any curious apprentices from interrupting his work. Later. 

The heels of his boots clicked against the wet stone when he hopped from the final rung of the ladder. The tunnel leading down into the icy depths had a soft, pervasive echo— the distant drip of water, a whistle of cold wind. Neloth brushed off his robes compulsively and strode forward. 

Aside from the cold, the place was no worse than any ancestral tomb back on Vvardenfell— or Solstheim, for that matter. From the way some of the faculty had spoken about it, Neloth had expected at least one life-threatening encounter. Alas, only a single draugr and an ice wraith. He pocketed its teeth to give to Teldryn later. (The wraith, not the draugr). 

At last, the winding chambers opened up into something useful. Neloth set his satchel down on a rickety table and surveyed the area. It looked to be a primitive summoning circle. After a bit more snooping and quickly skimming the ragged and aged— and conveniently placed— journal he found, Neloth discovered that it was an atronach forge. A shoddily constructed one, but a forge nonetheless. He nudged a small pile of bones with the edge of his boot, and a bit of dried flesh flaked away and crumbled to dust. Most likely the remnants of the last mage that attempted mucking about with the thing.

Repurposing it would be easier than constructing a brand new space, though it would take time, of which he had little. The solstice was in two weeks, which was the optimal time for the ritual— the barriers between Mundus and Aetherius would be at their thinnest just before the break of dawn on the shortest day of the year. Missing this window could mean months of extra work, all to get a glimpse at who might be behind the attacks. 

He explained as much to Teldryn as he led him down to the forge after imploring him for assistance. 

“I would have asked Talvas, but I have half a mind to release him from his apprenticeship,” Neloth sniffed, prying a long-melted candle from one of the sconces. “He’s practically useless.” 

“You should go easy on him right now. I’m sure he still wants to be your apprentice.” Teldryn sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with the components box with a rather well-worn set of lockpicks. “Besides, he’s getting a chance to put some of his theory to use.” 

“My masters never went easy on me,” Neloth argued, chipping away at another candle before giving up and using telekinesis to rip it from its sconce.

“A little compassion can go a long way.” 

“Compassion? Hardly. It’s promoting indolence. Laziness.”

Teldryn chuckled and shook his head. He set his tools down and pried the component box from its place with a firm tug. There was a piercing, disembodied scream that followed, echoing off the arched ceiling and through the cavernous halls. Teldryn stared at the box in his hands for a long moment, then turned to Neloth with wide eyes. 

“Sometimes that happens,” Neloth offered with a shrug. 

After an hour’s worth of work, the forge was successfully converted. He had to do a bit more transmuting of the original stonework than he would have preferred, but overall the new and improved circle was a perfect conduit. Teldryn even swept, which was quite nice.

“So, you’ll be doing the ritual on the Solstice?” Teldryn asked as the two of them made their way out of the Midden.

“Just before sunrise the night of. My calculations should be perfect.” 

“You know there’s going to be a solstice ball that evening, right?” 

“A ball!?” 

‘Yes. A gathering where people dance and enjoy themselves.” 

Neloth bristled. “I know what a ball is, you s’wit. Since when?”

Teldryn shrugged. “The students told me. When I spoke to Faralda about it, she said it was the Arch-Mage’s attempt to raise the school’s morale.” 

“By throwing a frivolous party?” 

“Exactly so.” Teldryn put a hand against Neloth’s chest as he reached for the ladder, pressing him gently back against the tunnel wall. “So maybe save a dance for me before you run off into the dungeon to perform some sort of ancient ritual, hm?” 

Neloth couldn’t help but smirk. He leaned his head back, looking at Teldryn from beneath half-lidded eyes. “You’re fortunate you’re so charming.” 

“Is it fortune?” 

“Surely you can’t attribute it to corprus as well.”

Teldryn laughed. It echoed down the tunnel as Neloth dipped forward for a kiss. It had been too long since they’d kissed. Almost a full day. Neloth was becoming spoiled by it all. He ran his fingers through Teldryn’s hair, parting his lips and letting out a satisfied groan. 

Teldryn pulled away with a hiss. “Careful,” he warned, speaking against Neloth’s jaw, one hand already slipping between the folds of his robes. “You’ll get me all worked up in an inconvenient place.”

“Have you so little self control?” 

Teldryn leaned back and scowled. “Get your arse up that ladder or I’ll demand you take me right here.”

It was Neloth’s turn to laugh, but he did what he was told, grinning all the way back to their bedroom.

  
— 

  
“Master Neloth, I had a question regarding the assignment.” 

The first week of classes had come and gone with relative ease. Neloth had only held two lecture-heavy classes and sent all of his students off to do a significant amount of reading before the next session. It was really quite simple. There was nothing to question. 

“What might that be?” he asked, only half paying attention as he copied his most recent research into his journal.

“Will we need to know  _ all _ of Sotha Sil’s lessons on Artaeum for the exam, or are there like… certain terms to memorize?”

Neloth paused in his writing, slowly looking up from his journal. The student, a shaggy-looking Breton boy, took a nervous step backwards. 

”I’m sorry. Were you expecting me to compose a vocabulary list?” 

The student shook his head, dark brown hair falling into his eyes. “No, sir, I just meant—” 

“You just meant ‘are there any shortcuts I can take’? Is that right?” 

“No, I—”

“For the exam, you and you alone, will be required to transcribe from memory the entirety of  _ 3rd of Sun's Dawn, 2920 _ . Any future inane questions will result in  _ more _ assignments.” Neloth pointed at the door with the tip of his quill. “Out.” 

The boy opened his mouth, sucked in a breath, held it, then quickly ducked his head and strode towards the exit. Neloth went back to copying. It took him a long moment to realize there was someone else still standing in the room. He set his quill down with a loud sigh. “Yes? What else?” 

“I also had a question, but not about the assignment.” It was the know-it-all Dunmer from class. He was tall and lanky, with thin wrists and a smatter of hair dappling his chin. “I can wait until class, if you’d prefer.” 

“You’re already here and you’re already bothering me. So you might as well waste my time now as opposed to later.” 

The Dunmer smirked, shuffling through his scrolls. “I just wanted some clarification. You said that Mysticism and The Old Way were used interchangeably by the Psijics. But while ‘The Old Way’  _ can _ refer to Mysticism, Mysticism doesn’t necessarily refer to The Old Way.”

“Correct. Because one is a religious philosophy, while the other is a theoretical school of magic.” 

“So, I guess I’m just confused by what separates the two.” 

“Did you  _ read _ Tetronius Lor’s treatise on Mysticism?” 

“Yes, which is why I’m confused.” 

Neloth rubbed at his temples with a sigh, but the question was intelligent enough. Worthy of answering, at least. “The Old Way refers specifically to the practices of the Psijics on Artaeum. They use meditation, thought exercises, and riddles to better connect with what they believe to be the purest form of magicka. The  _ study _ of Mysticism is far less spiritual, at least as far as House Telvanni is concerned. It’s more of a science than a religion— identifying patterns and working with cause and effect, direct action and reaction. It is something that can be mapped and traced. Experiments can be performed and repeated with reliable results.” 

The Dunmer nodded, looking thoughtful. “But aren’t those kind of the same thing?” 

“Hardly,” Neloth scoffed then paused. “But explain your reasoning.”

“Well, meditation and riddles… isn’t that just another way of identifying patterns? Thought exercises are inherently psychological. Scientific. So it feels, to me at least, like it’s just splitting hairs based on pomp and circumstance— one group not wanting to be associated with the other.” He tilted his head with a shrug. “Just seems counterproductive to try to say they’re two different things instead of considering them as a whole.” 

Neloth pursed his lips. “What is your name?” 

“Erebil Aldul.” He deepened the ‘u’ in his name the way a Nord might, the sound resonating deep within his chest. 

“Well, Erebil.” Neloth smiled thinly. “In addition to your reading assignment, I’d like you to write a short essay on the similarities and differences concerning the religious and secular practices of Mysticism.”

Erebil’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Is this punishment for asking questions?” 

“Do you feel punished?” Neloth asked as he leaned back in his chair. Erebil shook his head. Neloth nodded. “Good. The Arcanaeum should have a copy of  _ Concerning the Psijic Order _ as well as  _ Origin of the Mages Guild.  _ Those are the main resources you need.” 

“Thank you, Master Neloth.” 

Neloth pointed to the door with the feather end of his quill. “Out.” 

He watched the boy go with a slight frown. He was used to questions. Talvas had many,  _ many _ painfully moronic ones seemingly at his beck and call for whenever Neloth was busiest. But rarely did he encounter someone who might point out something he hadn’t yet considered. Curious. 

With a huff, he banished the thought and returned his attention to his notes, drawing a final line to complete the diagram of a cube. He blew gently across the page as the ink dried. 

_ Shadow magic. _

Even the Psijics shied away from such volatile techniques. Neloth had only attempted it once before, when he was very young. 

He’d been unsuccessful. 

He’d spent a week nearly blind.  _ Nearly _ being key, as Neloth certainly  _ saw _ more than he’d ever believed possible in that one week. It was still uncertain if the terrible phantoms and visions he’d witnessed had been real or imagined— a terrible side-effect of the dangerous spellcasting.

To peer sideways through reality was not something to be taken lightly. 

  
—

  
Teldryn was reclining on the bed when Neloth returned to their room that evening, bare from the waist up, a book propped in his lap. He glanced up as Neloth dropped his satchel onto the desk with a weary sigh. 

“You’re so dramatic,” Teldryn murmured, flipping a page. 

“Children are  _ exhausting _ .”

“They’re not children. They’re grown adults.” 

“Regardless, they’re exhausting.” Neloth stacked his journals and books in a neat row along the back of the desk. “This is why I choose  _ one _ , singular apprentice to work with. Trying to spread knowledge around like this is like dropping ink into water. It just…” He wiggled his fingers. “Dilutes it.” 

Teldryn put his book down on the bedside table. “They’re not training to be Telvanni wizards, Neloth. You don’t have to treat them with the same amount of discipline.” 

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right about that, at least.” He shrugged out of his thick outer robe and toed off his shoes before stepping quickly across the frigid stone floor and crawling onto the bed. Teldryn laughed at him as he scrambled beneath the covers, teeth chattering.

“Cold, are you?” 

“Damn you,” Neloth retorted, looping a leg around one of Teldryn’s. He was as hot as a furnace and Neloth groaned at the warmth, wriggling his frozen toes beneath Teldryn’s calves. 

“Aye!” he yelped, trying to jerk away. “You have icicles for feet, you bloody frost troll!”

“It’s your duty as my partner to warm my feet,” Neloth argued, tugging the covers up around his shoulders and shifting down to press himself against Teldryn’s side. 

“Partner, is it?” 

Neloth looked up, a flicker of panic catching in his chest. He’d said that, hadn’t he?  _ Partner. _ Teldryn was looking down at him with soft eyes, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. 

Neloth cleared his throat. “Would you prefer a different term?” 

“No.” Teldryn slid further beneath the covers, wrapping a warm arm around Neloth’s waist. “No, not at all. I… I like that.” He pulled their bodies together, no longer flinching away from Neloth’s cold feet. “And I certainly need to uphold my duties.” 

Neloth said nothing, chewing nervously at the side of his tongue as Teldryn slipped a hand beneath his linen undershirt, running a warm, smooth palm across his sides. What on Nirn had possessed him to say ‘partner’? It was supposed to have been harmless banter, their usual back-and-forth. Now, the future stretched before him in branching uncertainty, sprouting delicate buds of possibility that could so easily be clipped or stunted by the cold. 

“I know a great way to warm you up,” Teldryn murmured against his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his fluttering pulse point. 

“Sometimes, your excessive penchant for carnal matters concerns me,” Neloth said, a tad too breathless. 

“Excessive?” Teldryn chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow to stare down at him. “You should have seen me two hundred years ago.” 

“I’m fairly certain I did.” 

“Let me rephrase, then. You should have seen me  _ fuck _ two hundred years ago.”

“I’m thankful I didn’t.” 

Teldryn chuckled fondly, running a hand up Neloth’s neck to cup his cheek. His gaze swept across Neloth’s face, as if searching for something, his expression tight. After a strange, tense moment of staring, he dipped forward and pressed their mouths together. 

It warmed Neloth all the way to his toes.

Teldryn shifted onto his side, pulling Neloth with him. Their kiss was slow, tender, hands roaming, legs intertwined. Neloth was helpless; utterly lost in it. Kissing Teldryn made him feel young and inexperienced— always strange and thrilling, and terrifying.

He pulled back enough to speak. “I don’t really want to—” 

“It’s fine,” Teldryn cut him off with a small smile. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah?” He leaned forward for one final kiss. “Have you warmed up?”

Neloth sighed, shifted, turning away and pressing his back against Teldryn’s chest. A warm arm snaked around his middle, holding him tightly. “Remarkably so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone save me from these mer. They're soft and it hurts my chest. 
> 
> I sketched up [Neloth's super secret notes](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/605610821359370242/756553291558682624/image0.png) a while ago, and some dedicated people on Instagram actually translated the damn thing. Have at it, if you feel like practicing your daedric! Sorry for the letter modifications. Daedric makes a great font, but is nearly impossible with actual calligraphy. 
> 
> Also, I have to include this comic that WorthlessSix drew based on a meme because I'm still laughing at it weeks later:   
> [[1]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/618921462069461002/772869146752188436/unknown.png)  
> [[2]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/618921462069461002/772869164004147280/unknown.png)  
> [[3]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/618921462069461002/772869186237104168/unknown.png)


	8. Rumors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta - FourCatProductions! 
> 
> I feel like I finally broke through one of my major writing blocks with this story, so hopefully I can get back to posting more frequently! Thanks SO much to everyone who's commented or messaged me or reached out in any way so far. <3 It means so much. 
> 
> Back to the story!

In the following week, the general mood throughout the school regarding the upcoming Solstice Ball shifted from bland curiosity, to wariness, and finally to tittering excitement. In the last few days leading up to the event, as the grounds keepers were decorating and preparing the main hall, the students buzzed with anticipation. Wild rumors were already circulating: talk of tamed bears, Akaviri gymnasts, enchanted wine barrels that never ran dry. Teldryn couldn’t help but indulge in the rumors. 

“What else have you heard?” he asked his class during their cool-down stretches. They all sat in a small circle in his newly-assigned classroom. Straw-filled mats and pillows lined the hard stone floor, warming the room and adding splashes of color to the otherwise endless gray stone. 

“Well, I heard from Gwynara that the Arch-Mage invited Akaviri royalty,” said Gabrielle, a short, stocky redheaded Breton girl. She’d been surprisingly rough-and-tumble despite her size.

“Why am I constantly hearing rumors of Akavir regarding the Arch-Mage?” Teldryn asked with a chuckle, shifting his stretch into the opposite side. 

“It’s because she really lived there!” Gabrielle insisted, mimicking him. 

“Says who?” Onmund interjected. 

“...Everyone.” 

A scoff to Teldryn’s left. “The weakest possible argument,” said Vyria. She was a Solstheim Dunmer— Teldryn knew her father. She was talented with destruction magic, but still relatively weak with a sword. Her improvement had been phenomenal, though.

“Has anyone even bothered to  _ ask _ her if she lived in Akavir?” It was Quintus this time. Next to Onmund, he’d been the star pupil. He was a handsome Imperial lad with more charisma than he knew what to do with, (Teldryn could relate to that, at least). He’d come into class aimless and quiet, but quickly took to their practices. He could easily become a skilled battlemage given time and diligence. 

“Where’s the fun in just  _ asking _ ?” Teldryn goaded, earning laughs from his students.

“Indeed. Speculation is  _ far _ more entertaining,” came a raspy voice from the doorway. Agatha was watching them with a sideways pull to her lip, arms crossed as she leaned against the frame. Teldryn flushed hot and gave her a sheepish smile and a shrug. 

“Alright, I think that’ll be our class for the day,” he declared as he rolled to his feet. “Try to read ‘Mace Etiquette’ before our next session, if you can get your hands on a copy.” 

One by one his students gathered their things, avoiding the Arch-Mage’s gaze and shuffling by with mumbled thanks. Agatha strolled unhurriedly into the classroom after the last student had left. 

“My apologies, Arch-Mage,” Teldryn offered with a shrug. “I didn’t mean to get them riled up.” 

Agatha let out a low chuckle. “No harm in any of it.” She shifted her stance. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you for a while now. It’s hard to find you without your other half glued to your side.”

Teldryn ran a hand through his hair with a helpless kind of laugh. “We do enjoy each other’s company, believe it or not.” 

“I do.” She inclined her head towards the door. “Walk with me.”

They ended up meandering in the direction of the Arch-Mage’s quarters, passing gaggles of students as they went. Agatha was silent for much of the walk and nervousness began to roil in Teldryn’s gut— her expression was placid, nearly impossible to read. 

“Did you study in Akavir?” he blurted as they began to climb the stairs. Not his most tactful decision, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t damn curious. 

“I did.” Agatha smiled slyly at him over her shoulder. “Unlike you.” 

Teldryn’s heart leapt into his throat and his foot slipped against the edge of the step. He took a moment to steady himself against the wall. “So you  _ do _ know who I am?” 

“Savos spoke fondly of you.” 

A wave of melancholy washed over Teldryn, leaving him at a loss for words. “Ah.” He continued forward.

“I wasn’t quite sure if it was  _ you _ traveling with Master Neloth until you’d introduced yourself.” She led him over to the small dining table where they’d first been interviewed. 

“So, having me teach a combat class…?” 

“You’re the stuff of legend, Mister Sero.” Agatha sat down gracefully into one of the chairs, crossing one leg over her knee. “I’d be a fool to neglect your talents.” 

Teldryn huffed under his breath, sitting down opposite her. “Is this what you wanted to talk about?” 

“Partially.” Her expression turned serious. “I also wanted to be honest with you. Especially in light of the most recent news to reach my doorstep.” Teldryn sat up straighter, nervousness returning. She met his gaze, unwavering. “How familiar are you with dragons, Mister Sero?” 

Whatever Teldryn had expected her to ask, it wasn’t  _ that _ . He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out of him, immediately covering his mouth with an apology. “Dragons?” He schooled his face into an expression of gravity. “Not much. Other than that nobody has seen one for thousands of years.”

“Until recently.”

Teldryn laughed again. “You’re joking.” 

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

His smile faded as he slowly sank back in his chair. “Well… shit.” 

“Shit, indeed.” 

“Where was it seen?”

“The first one was seen on Morndas, the 17th of Last Seed. At Helgen.” 

“The first one!?” 

“That’s the latest news.” She pressed her wrinkled mouth into a grim line. “I have an old contact from Cyrodil who now lives in Skyrim. We’ve been in correspondence. There have been more and more dragon sightings over the past month— namely around the old burial mounds.”

“And what are they doing? The dragons, I mean.” 

“What dragons are wont to do,” Agatha sighed with a delicate shrug. “Slaughter humans and elves. Attempt to enslave us. I’m sure a new dragon cult will crop up soon enough.”

Teldryn let out a long exhale, sinking down even further in his seat.  _ Dragons. _ This was not how he’d expected today to go. “And teaching mages to wield a sword will help them against  _ this _ ?” 

Agatha let out a raspy laugh. “Hardly. But it makes them  _ think. _ Forces your average mage out of the box of solving everything with magic. The country is already torn in half. Mages are shunned, if not outright treated with hostility. And now there are dragons roaming the skies.” She shifted, crossing her opposite leg. “Savos had the best of intentions for this school, but most everyone could see he was too myopic in his goals. Inflexible, even. He was more concerned with keeping secrets and studying in isolation— a terrible  _ Telvanni _ habit of his. The young mages of Winterhold are going to shape the future of Tamriel. They need room to grow and be better than you or I ever were. Or will be.” 

Teldryn let out another long exhale, scratching at the back of his neck. “Why tell me all of this? Why not Neloth?” 

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Would he care?” 

Teldryn let out a bark of laughter, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling with a fond smile. “Probably not. Might be fascinated, though.” He returned his gaze to Agatha. “But honestly. Why me?” 

“You’re the Nerevarine. World-shifting paradigms are within your realm of experience.” She smiled a bit more kindly than she had yet to do. “That, and I could use your help. And your advice.” 

“Help? Advice?” 

“There’s a prophecy,” she began, and Teldryn’s heart sank. “When Alduin, the World-Eater returns to Nirn, a figure known as the Dragonborn will rise to defeat him.” 

“I’m not the Dragonborn,” Teldryn said flatly. 

“I didn’t think you were,” Agatha responded with a chuckle. “But you  _ have _ fulfilled a prophecy before.” 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

“I was hoping you might be able to give some insight. How did it all begin?” 

Teldryn ran a hand across his jaw, tugging at his beard. “Well, it started as you might expect: with a dream. But I  _ think _ it was already being set in motion when I was an Imperial prisoner.” 

Agatha’s eyebrows shot upwards, her forehead splitting into dozens of wrinkles. She laughed, but it faded quickly as she grew pensive. “As a prisoner. Curious…” She sighed, eyebrows drawing tight as she fiddled with a chain around her neck— whatever the pendant was, it remained tucked out of sight, beneath the collar of her shirt. “Seems to be a theme.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, the rumor is that Ulfric Stormcloak is the Dragonborn.”

“Stormcloak…” Teldryn repeated the name, trying to place it. “I’ve heard the word.” 

“The leader of the faction of the same name. Murdered the High King of Skyrim, started the Civil War.” Agatha’s flat tone was enough to declare her opinion on the matter. 

“And why do people think he’s the Dragonborn?” 

“Quite a few reasons. Namely because he already knows how to speak in the dragon language. Also because he was there on the day the first dragon attacked. A prisoner on his way to the executioner’s block. His execution never happened and he escaped in the ensuing chaos.” 

“Seems all signs point to him being just that, then,” Teldryn agreed, relatively impressed. 

“I’m not convinced.” Agatha pushed to her feet and Teldryn did the same. “It’s all hearsay. And Stormcloak himself has neither confirmed nor denied the claims, which leads me to believe he’s allowing the rumors to circulate.” 

“To what benefit?”

Agatha smiled, cocking her head to the side. “The same reason I let the rumors about myself circulate. To accumulate power and mystery. And to keep my enemies on their toes.” 

“Have many enemies, do you?” Teldryn asked, allowing himself to be walked to the door. 

“It’s unavoidable at my age, I’m afraid. Besides, I never trust anyone who hasn’t made a single enemy in their life. It is likely they have been a coward in the face of adversity.” The sharp turn of her lip softened into another kindly smile. “Thank you for speaking with me. I’m at a crucial stage of information gathering and honestly need someone I can trust. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate continuing to consult you on the matter.” 

“Not at all. I’m honored to have your trust, though I can’t promise I’ll be much help.” Teldryn offered a slight bow, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. “Should I refrain from mentioning this to Neloth?” 

“I don’t see why you should. It’s not a secret.” She extended her hand and Teldryn shook it firmly. “I’ll see you at the Solstice Ball?” 

Teldryn smiled. “You shall. Though I’m sorry to say I won’t be free for any dances. I’m already spoken for.” 

Agatha rasped out a loud, amused laugh. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” 

——

“Dragons!?” Neloth’s head jerked upright from where he’d been bent over the desk in their room. “That seems a bit far-fetched.” 

“I’ve heard stranger things,” Teldryn admitted, falling back across their bed with an  _ oof _ . “It does explain  _ some _ of her reasoning.” 

“I have to disagree. Her logic still evades me. Not to mention it could simply be vicious rumor.” He turned back to his journals. “But I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Be careful what you wish for, now. I’d rather not have a dragon knocking at the door.” Teldryn only got a distracted hum in response. He tapped his fingers against his breast bone, staring up at the gray stone ceiling, mind buzzing. “What are you going to wear to the Ball?” 

Neloth let out a soft laugh. “Your mind certainly moves on quickly, doesn’t it?” 

“Do you even have anything nice?” 

“All my clothes are nice!” Neloth protested. 

“Hmm…” Teldryn scrunched up his face and shifted to look in Neloth’s direction. “Maybe a hundred and fifty years ago they were nice.” 

“How  _ very _ dare you.” Neloth firmly set his quill down, twisting in his chair to fix Teldryn with a glare. “Are you accusing me of being outdated?” 

Teldryn grinned, sitting up and rocking to his feet. “You have a certain antique charm to you.” 

“You’re  _ trying _ to get me irritated, aren’t you?” Neloth chuckled as he also got to his feet, sauntering over and taking Teldryn by the waist. “I told you I’d catch onto all your schemes.” 

Teldryn smirked. “You really only manage it half the time.”

He kissed away any retort Neloth might have had. He kissed him because he couldn’t help it. Because he still hadn’t grown tired of feeling Neloth relax against him, the soft exhale of his breath across his face. He wanted to say it— those three elusive words danced on the tip of his tongue, tapping against the back of his teeth. It burned through his chest as he reached up to trace his fingers along Neloth’s jaw, brushing a thumb across the shell of his ear. He’d never waited this long before. He’d always let his partners know how he felt.  _ If _ he felt it. But there was something about Neloth that made him hold back.

He pulled away to press his lips to Neloth’s neck— warm skin, pulse fluttering just slightly faster than usual. 

Perhaps it was his own fear holding him back. The pain of rejection. He knew Neloth didn’t express himself the way most people did; that, try as he might, his emotional understanding oftentimes fell short. So  _ what _ , if he never said it back?  _ So what? _ Teldryn could  _ feel _ it. He felt it now, in the way that Neloth’s thumb gently traced the muscles of his low back, the way he tilted his head in the smallest sign of submission. He heard it in the slight whine of Neloth’s breath, as if Teldryn’s lips burned. It was all  _ right there, _ in so many unspoken ways. 

But, by the stars, Teldryn wanted to  _ say it. _ And, perhaps, even hear it said in return. 

“Show me the dances you know,” he said instead, his own voice having grown deep. 

Neloth huffed into his ear, shifted the hand on his back. “Practicing?” 

“I can’t have you making a fool out of me in front of the whole school, can I?” 

Neloth clucked his tongue and the sound sent a shiver down Teldryn’s spine. “You’re getting sloppy with your insults. You’re never going to get what you want at this rate.” 

“And what do I want?” Teldryn asked, his grip on Neloth’s waist tightening. 

“Oh.” Neloth pulled back enough to bring a hand to Teldryn’s face, cupping his chin and tipping it up. Teldryn could only imagine what his own expression must have given away as Neloth stared down at him. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Neloth ran a thumb across Teldryn’s lower lip with a smug twist to his own mouth. “You want to see if you’re a better dancer than me.” 

Teldryn let out a bark of laughter and pushed him away, body flushing hot. “Fuck off.” 

“What else could you possibly want!?” Neloth teased, grinning shamelessly.

Teldryn ceded, attempting to scrub the flush from his face with the heels of his hands. “Well, what dances  _ do _ you know?” 

“Only the most basic ones.  _ Alifikam _ .  _ Baldefuur-merakhekam. _ I haven’t had to use them in…” Neloth exhaled, propping his hands on his hips. “At least three hundred years. Probably more.” He shrugged. “I really only went to the kinds of formal events that would require such knowledge  _ before _ I was a part of the Council.”

Teldryn smiled, imagining a young Neloth dressed in fitted robes, attending some sort of early third era Telvanni function— rubbing elbows and begrudgingly dancing his way into better social graces. He would have paid to see it. “ _ Alifikam, _ you say?” Teldryn held his right arm out, elbow bent at an angle. “Show me.” 

Neloth hesitated, dropping his hands from his hips and staring at Teldryn’s arm as if it were a snake. “I barely remember it.” 

“I’ll walk you through it,” Teldryn insisted, softening his expression. “Come on. It’s just you and me.”

Cautiously, Neloth stepped forward, raising his right arm to mirror Teldryn’s. They crossed their wrists and with a final, assuring smile, Teldryn took the first step. They circled each other slowly— step three, four, five, turn. Teldryn twisted and switched arms; Neloth faltered only momentarily before doing the same, and they changed directions. 

“I think that’s all I remember,” Neloth admitted, sounding peeved. 

Teldryn chuckled under his breath as they switched directions again. “Next you take my opposite hand.” And so they did, stepping away from each other, then back in. “And move across— no, to my right. It’s always right-to-right.” 

Neloth made an angry little noise, but corrected himself. 

“And now with the other hand.” Teldryn walked him through the final steps, until the dance repeated. “See? Not too bad.” 

“It’s rather dizzying,” Neloth complained, pulling away and crossing his arms.

“Let’s try  _ Baldefuur-merakhekam.  _ It’s easier.” 

“I think I’m done dancing.” 

“Come on.” Teldryn stepped into Neloth’s space, sliding a hand along his lower back. “This one is all footwork.” 

With Neloth’s left hand in Teldryn’s right, fingers interlaced, they stepped in a slow, weaving circle in counts of three. Eventually, Teldryn stopped counting as their footwork became less precise. Neloth remained silent, his breath soft and warm against Teldryn’s neck as the sides of their faces brushed. Neloth let out a long exhale, tilting his head and speaking quietly into Teldryn’s ear. 

“Must we dance in front of them?” 

Neloth had probably wanted to sound annoyed or exasperated, but it just came out small and nervous. A warm, blooming protectiveness surged behind Teldryn’s breast bone and he held him closer. 

“Not if you don’t want to, no.” He angled his head to press a kiss to Neloth’s neck. “We can just… watch. Offer gentle criticism.” 

Neloth huffed a laugh. He pulled away, wearing an expression that was so soft and open that Teldryn couldn’t help but take his face between his hands and kiss him. 

And Neloth let him. Which was really the beauty of the entire situation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, yes I know, but may I offer a gift of some mild plot development? And some fluff??  
> Also, big thanks to jottingprosaist for helping me brainstorm names and ideas for Dunmer dances! There was apparently a joke when Morrowind first came out that Dunmer _do not dance_. Luckily, ESO retconned that for us. 
> 
> The next chapter is going to be _incredibly_ long comparative to this one -- and all from Tavlas' POV! 
> 
> The ~~Totally Not A Knock-Off of the Yule Ball~~ Solstice Ball awaits! 
> 
> \------
> 
> BONUS:   
> [Amazing artwork from WorthlessSix who continues to spoil me!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/749762954890575923/784633236525547520/neloth_do_not_disturb.png)


	9. The Solstice Ball (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Sorry for the loooong wait between updates. This story is still kind of technically on hiatus, but I'd already had this chapter written up (and my wonderful beta had already looked it over for me), so I thought "why not post?"

It was the evening of the Solstice Ball and the entire campus buzzed with excitement. The inner courtyard’s small pine trees were decorated with luminescent glass balls and dried fruits on string. The massive pillars were wrapped in ribbon and twine, adding vibrant pops of color to the usually gray landscape. Grounds keepers were hurrying in and out of the main entryway, finishing the last of the preparations as Talvas gawked in the foyer of the Hall of the Elements. He wanted to help, but there seemed little left to do. 

“Pardon me,” came a gruff voice from behind him as Talvas was jostled to the right. It belonged to a short, tawny-haired Bosmer, his arms full of snowberry branches. 

“Sorry,” Talvas said reflexively. “Oh, uh… do you need any help?” 

The Bosmer turned to look at him, one eyebrow arched. He gave Talvas a down-sweeping glance, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Sure. But I don’t think we’ve met.” 

“Talvas Fathryon,” Talvas offered, quickly extending his hand in a too-eager attempt to show he knew Western greetings. 

The Bosmer looked at his hand, then back up at Talvas, his arms still very full of snowberry branches. “Enthir.” He smiled and began to walk away. “It’s a pleasure. Now follow me.”

As it turned out, Enthir was only half-helping decorate. He dumped the snowberries on a table on the opposite side of the hall, earning a sour look from Nirya as she began to incorporate them into the table setting. He beckoned for Talvas to follow him back out of the hall, sauntering unhurriedly down the left wing of the college. 

“Are you one of the scholars?” Talvas asked, falling into step beside him. 

“Not really.” 

“Oh.” The way he said it made Talvas think he wasn’t really a student, either. Now he was too afraid to ask. “So, what did you need help with?” 

“Gathering some ingredients.” He looked up at Talvas with a grin. “I want to pull a little prank on Urag. All in good fun, of course.” 

A pang of nervousness soured Talvas’ gut. He immediately regretted offering his help. “You won’t… hurt him, will you?”

“Of course not!” Enthir barked. “Urag is a good friend. He’s also…” He made a vague hand gesture. “A tight-ass.” He stopped abruptly in front of a narrow door, fiddling with a set of keys hooked to his belt. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“He seems more scary than anything,” Talvas admitted, feeling guilty for saying so. 

Enthir let out a gravelly laugh. “He’d like you to think he’s scary. Truth is, he’s got a real soft underbelly.” He pulled a long slender key from the ring, sliding it into the lock with a satisfied sight. “Alchemy supply closet, if you were wondering.” He turned the key and Talvas heard the tumblers click into place. 

The door swung open to reveal a long, dark room lined with shelves. It stretched on for a surprising distance, and Talvas half-wondered if they’d created a small pocket dimension just for this closet. 

“Now let’s see here… close the door behind you.” Enthir cast a quick candlelight spell as Talvas quietly pulled the door shut and followed him. 

The cold blue light of Enthir’s spell illuminated rows upon rows of jars and glass bottles of varying sizes. Their surfaces twinkled and danced as he moved further down the closet, mumbling to himself. The middle and lower shelves appeared to be all your standard, easy-to-come-by supplies: dried plants, roots, fungi. On the higher shelves were the rarer ingredients. Talvas could have sworn he saw a jar labeled  _ human flesh, _ but Enthir’s light had moved too far away by the time he’d done a double take. 

“Here we are…” Enthir stopped in front of a shelf that looked the same as all the rest. “Say, you’re taller than me. Use your vertical privilege to reach those fire salts up there, will you?” 

Talvas looked in the direction he’d indicated. Up on the highest shelf sat a large jar, its contents glowing like barely-stoked embers. It was well out of Talvas’ reach. 

“Not a problem. Just a moment.” Without thinking, he levitated himself upwards a few feet and pulled the jar off the shelf. 

“Ha!” Enthir barked a laugh. “I knew it! Like a true Telvanni!” 

“What?” Talvas floated back down, his stomach turning hard with anxiety. “What do you mean?” 

“What you just did is  _ very _ illegal in this country, young master Fathryon.” Enthir grinned in a way that made him feel naked. “And you didn’t even bat an eye.” 

Talvas flushed, his pulse fluttering. “Did you do that on purpose!?” 

Enthir let out a scoff, reaching forward and plucking the jar of fire salts from Talvas’ hands. “Of course I did. But I also needed these.” He shook the jar a bit and the salts grew momentarily brighter. “Two birds. Thanks for humoring me.” He squeezed by Talvas and began to head for the door, humming to himself. Talvas stood rooted to the spot, wondering what kind of penalty he might receive for performing an illegal spell. He stared down at his shoes as the light of Enthir’s spell slowly faded, suddenly feeling like an outsider again. He’d grown so comfortable over the past three weeks… 

“Oh will you stop moping and come on,” Enthir called from the door. “I’m not gonna turn you into the damn authorities.” 

Talvas looked up with a scowl. “Do you need me to perform more illegal spells?” 

Enthir laughed, low and gravelly again. “Only if you want to.” He jerked his chin towards the door. “ Come on, I’m not just gonna leave you in a closet. We’ve got a Ball to attend.” 

— 

Talvas tightened the sash around his waist, sucking his stomach in. He hadn’t bothered buying new robes for the ball and was already regretting that decision. He felt shabby. Slovenly. Drevis had let him borrow the sash after he’d caught him lamenting to Faralda about not having anything nice to wear. Talvas had thought it garish at first— Khajiit-made and too exotic— but now, as he folded the fabric over itself, straightening the creases and fluffing the fringe, he actually felt quite regal. 

“I’d say that’s a good enough addition,” came Faralda’s voice from the doorway.

Talvas looked up with a sheepish smile and felt his ears immediately grow warm. She looked radiant, the wide neck of her dress accentuating the delicate lines of her collarbone, her skin glowing creamy golden in the low light. 

“Thank—” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Thank you.” 

“I have something else for you.” She stepped forward, holding something behind her back, the thick fabric of her dress swishing around her ankles. 

“Oh?” Talvas took an involuntary step backwards. “What’s that?” 

“Close your eyes.” 

With a shuddering exhale, Talvas obeyed. He heard her step forward, close enough to smell her lavender perfume. He softened his mouth, just in case she wanted to kiss him. 

Something hard pressed against the top of his head, sliding down and settling above his ears. Then she stepped away. 

“I think that rather suits you.” 

Talvas blinked his eyes open, turning to catch his reflection in the tarnished mirror that hung on the wall to his left. Atop his head sat a small bronze circlet, vibrant green emeralds set into the band. He stepped closer to the mirror, rearranging his hair where it stuck out at odd places. 

“It’s very Altmer,” he said under his breath. Faralda laughed and he spun to look at her, flushing with embarrassment. “No offense!” 

“None taken.” She held out her elbow. “Shall we?” 

Talvas looped his arm through hers, straightening his back with a smile that was more confident than he felt. “Lead the way.” 

— 

The Hall of the Elements was alive with light and sound and movement, its arches dripping with greenery and golden ribbons. Boughs of pine and juniper branches filled the massive room with their sweet, woody scent, and mage lights floated listlessly between the pillars like fairy fire, their reflections twinkling in the high glass windows. Voices filled the chamber in a dull roar of conversation and laughter. A small troupe of musicians occupied one of the alcoves, playing an up-beat tune that had a gaggle of people already dancing. 

Faralda had dropped Talvas’ arm as soon as they’d arrived, leaving him to stand awkwardly in the archway. He watched with a sinking feeling as she glided over to Mirabelle, immediately engaging in rapt conversation. Looking around the hall, gaze sliding from face to face, he suddenly felt alone and unwelcome. 

He slunk around the perimeter and towards the long oak table piled high with food. It was all Nordic fare: braised lamb, roasted goat legs, venison steaks, baked and mashed potatoes, seared slaughterfish, grilled leeks— a bounty the likes of which Talvas had never seen. His mouth watered and he surreptitiously grabbed a plate and began to pile on the food.

“Someone’s hungry,” a familiar voice to his right declared.

He tore his gaze from the pyramid of sweet rolls to see Enthir staring at him with a thin smile. His stomach dropped. “Um. I’m allowed to be eating this, right?” 

Enthir’s eye roll was almost seismic. “Yes, Master Fathryon. That’s why it’s  _ here _ . Although, word of warning, by the time nine rolls around, avoid the mulled wine.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Enthir just shrugged with a smug twist to his mouth before sauntering off.

Talvas swallowed and warily eyed the large basin of wine. Maybe he’d stick to ale for the night.

After filling his plate and acquiring a chilled mug of dark, hoppy ale, he found a chair off to the side and sat down, content to people-watch for half an hour before leaving. He wasn’t going to force himself to stay at a gathering where everyone was ignoring him, but he’d stay long enough to know what it was like. That way he could say he went if anyone asked. He sunk his teeth into a roasted rabbit leg and peered curiously around the room. 

Students mingled in scattered groups, laughing and carrying on, some dragging each other onto the dance floor. Most of his fellow teachers were gathered across the hall in a small circle, chatting with one another. Talvas sighed and took a generous sip of his ale before tucking into the rest of his food. 

A pop or orange caught his eye from the main entrance. Talvas looked up to see Master Neloth and Teldryn strolling into the hall and a new lump of dread formed in his stomach. He briefly considered casting a chameleon spell when a figure to his left moved into his periphery. 

“Could I… um. Might I join you?” 

Talvas jerked to look. It was Brelyna. She blinked down at him with wide eyes and a white-knuckled grip on her wine glass. 

“Of course!” Talvas shifted unnecessarily, motioning to the chair beside him. “I’m being really boring.” 

She laughed, rearranging her dress as she sat. “That’s okay! Boring is okay.” She was wearing a diaphanous, gauzy dress, lilac in color, her dark hair styled into two twisted buns on either side of her head. 

“You look lovely,” Talvas said on impulse, only wondering after the fact if that was inappropriate. 

A dark indigo flush crept across Brelyna’s cheeks and she laughed again, taking a long sip of wine. “I never have any excuse to dress up like this,” she said, smoothing out some invisible wrinkle in her lap. “I didn’t even own a dress before now.” 

“I had to borrow this,” Talvas admitted, motioning to his sash, then pointed to the circlet. “And this.”

“It looks really nice,” she offered with a small smile. “The circlet is… very Summerset.” 

“That’s what I said!”

Brelyna giggled into her wine cup, averting her gaze. Talvas noticed how long her lashes were.

All at once, the music died down, and there was a soft chiming in the center of the hall. The Arch-Mage had stepped up onto the edge of the center fountain, backlit by the glowing pillar of magicka. She looked more severe than usual, white hair pulled into a tight bun, an eyepatch covering her right eye. It was amazing how someone so small could possess so much magnetism, Talvas thought. She looked out across the hall until all the remaining chatter had completely stopped, leaving an almost deafening silence in the room. Then, she spoke:

“Welcome, students and faculty, to the College of Winterhold’s first Solstice Ball.” Her voice was at a normal volume, but Talvas heard the words as if she were standing directly in front of him. Some type of modification on an earworm spell, most likely. “We have experienced much together over the course of a year,” she continued, interrupting Talvas’ musings. “Incredible growth and tremendous loss. To move forward, we must honor our ancestors and our teachers, in whatever form they may take. Let us learn well from them so that we may gain their wisdom, respect their sacrifices, and never again repeat the mistakes of our past. 

“The College has a history marred in tragedy and destruction. We are feared, resented, and cast out.” Her words sliced through the air with physical weight, and she took a moment to look between the gathered faces. “But no more. Each of you is a light illuminating the path to a brighter future— student, teacher, mage, warrior— for yourself, for your children, for Tamriel. Now more than ever, in these times of war and division, our bonds are our strength. We  _ must _ put aside our differences in favor of our smilitude. We  _ must _ tear down the walls that no longer serve us and forge new allies. It is in this way that we survive.

“So tonight, we celebrate friendship and camaraderie. Our shared love of the arcane arts. May this be the beginning of a grand new tradition.” She held her glass aloft. “To Winterhold!” 

_ “To Winterhold!” _ the room exclaimed in return. 

“To Magnus!” 

_ “To Magnus!” _

_ “Sköl!” _

The hall erupted into applause at the Nordic cheers as the music swelled back to life. Talvas extended his ale to Brelyna and she clinked the edge of her wine glass against his mug with a soft laugh.

“So.” She leaned in closer to Talvas, turning so their knees bumped. “What was it like? Growing up on Solstheim in House Telvanni?” 

“Oh, um… I actually grew up in House Redoran.” 

Brelyna blinked in surprise. “House Redoran?” 

“Yeah.” Talvas couldn’t help but laugh. “Wasn’t the most… well-received decision when I told them I wanted to study under Master Neloth.” They hadn’t spoken to him since. “But I knew what I had to do. I’d spent the first fifty years of my life trying to be someone I wasn’t.” 

Brelyna let out a soft huff that turned into a laugh. “I can relate.” She took a hefty sip of wine. “So how long have you been his apprentice?” 

“Oh, only twelve years.”  _ Twelve long years… _ “He kept rejecting me the first few times I asked. So I just sort of… worked odd jobs around Raven Rock until he finally accepted. First as his steward, then as an apprentice.” He made it sound so simple, recounting it now, completely leaving out the thirty-odd  _ wasted _ years of sweeping floors, washing dishes, scrubbing bath tubs, mining ebony… “I did a lot of self-teaching and studying in my downtime.” _ Reading and re-reading the same old books, having the same explosions blow up in my face time after time… _ “So, all in all, it’s taken a while, but here I am!” 

Saints, it sounded pathetic spelled out like that. Talvas took a long drink of his ale, determined not to look his student in the eye lest she see him for what he really was: a fraud. 

“You never considered joining the College? As a student?” 

“I did. I talked myself out of it every time. Skyrim seemed really dangerous and unwelcoming. I’d heard about how the Dunmer were treated in Windhelm and I just assumed it was like that everywhere.” Talvas shrugged. “It makes me feel a little foolish now that I’m here, but you can’t change the past!” He laughed away any possible trace of bitterness in his tone. His story was pathetic enough as it was. “What about you?” 

Brelyna shrugged and looked away. “Not much to tell. I grew up in Firewatch. It’s across from Tel Vos… or, what’s left of Tel Vos. Just over the Inner Sea. It was… fine. My family isn’t too tied up in House politics, so we always managed to scrape by unnoticed. You’d think a good bit of the country being destroyed would promote some unity, but I feel like we’re more divided now than  _ before _ the Nerevarine arrived. From what I’ve heard, at least.”

“Do you plan to go back?” Talvas asked. “Once you’ve finished with your schooling?” 

Brelyna shrugged again, looking down into her wine cup. “I don’t really feel like I have much of a choice. I don’t know what else I’d do.” She sighed. “I just hope my family can be proud of me. And will be accepting of the person I’ve become.” 

Talvas felt bad. It was obviously a tender subject. He chewed at his bottom lip as Brelyna drained the last of her wine. 

The music shifted into something livelier. 

“Wanna dance?” he asked, before he fully registered that he was asking one of his students. 

Brelyna’s eyes lit up. “Really? S-sure! Um…” She looked around for a place to set her wine cup before sliding it under the chair she was sitting in and springing to her feet. “I don’t know if I’m a good dancer.” 

“That’s okay!” Talvas clapped his hands against his knees as he rocked forward to stand. “It’s supposed to be about having fun, right?” 

Brelyna giggled. “Yes, I suppose.” 

They made their way out onto the dance floor among students and faculty alike.  _ It’s fine, _ Talvas told himself as he slid a hand around Brelyna’s thin waist.  _ It’s just friendly dancing. _ She wore slightly elevated heels which made her a good deal taller than him, putting her lips at eye-height. Talvas swallowed as they began to sway to the music, incredibly aware of the heat beneath his hands.

They chatted while they danced, speaking into each other’s ears until they were breathless, devolving into laughter. Brelyna was charming and funny with her guard down, surprising Talvas with clever little jokes that had him turning his head to laugh against his own shoulder. They broke away from the dance floor only once for more ale and wine, respectively, before returning with renewed enthusiasm, fingers entwined. 

Only once did Talvas manage to spot Master Neloth and Teldryn, off in a secluded area of the hall, seemingly lost in each other’s company. Faralda had caught his eye and offered a wink and smile before pulling Mirabelle in for a dance. He wasn’t sure if it was simply a friendly gesture or some kind of permission. He tried not to think beyond the present moment as Brelyna’s fingertips strayed into the hair at the base of his neck. 

“I want more wine,” she leaned in and said after another long stretch of dancing. “I’m getting tired.” 

“We can sit for a while!” Talvas responded into her ear. 

She smiled at him, looking beautiful, and he let her take him by the hand once again, leading him off the dance floor. 

She began to wander over towards the wine when Talvas stopped her, clarity cutting through the haze of his ale-buzz. “Wait. What time is it?” 

Almost in response, a roar of anger crescendoed over the music and Talvas saw a red-faced Urag lumbering after a laughing Enthir, who nimbly sprinted out of the hall. 

“What was that about!?” Brelyna asked through a giggle. 

“Who knows,” Talvas lied. “But maybe don’t drink the wine.” 

“Let’s see if there’s a bottle we can steal!” 

“We!?” Talvas feigned shock. “Are you trying to make a criminal out of me?”

Brelyna just laughed and tugged him along. 

They stole  _ two _ bottles of wine, and a quiet voice in the back of Talvas’ mind told him he knew better than to start mixing alcohols this late into the night. A louder voice told him that Brelyna wanted to drink wine, that she thought he was worth being around, and that she smelled  _ very _ nice.

They wandered out of the main hall, shoulders bumping.

It was snowing as they made their way into the courtyard. The usual wind was nowhere to be found, replaced by peaceful silence as soft, downy flakes slowly spiraled towards the earth.

“Where are we going?” Talvas asked, wrapping an arm around Brelyna’s waist because he could. 

“Somewhere quiet,” she responded, swaying into him. “All the noise was getting to be a little much.” 

“Quiet is good,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh a cliffy! I don't usually end chapters with cliffies, and yet...
> 
> Let me know what you think! I've had a serious dip in motivation/desire to work on this story, so I do apologize if another long wait follows this chapter. But hearing from readers and knowing that people are still interested definitely helps. <3 Any little comments are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are my life blood! 
> 
> This story will be updated on Fridays every two weeks. <3


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